From Southern Voice

I'm still not able to put my thoughts into words regarding my friend Max. So I am pasting in a recent profile published in Southern Voice in Atlanta. Max was all about spreading his story, so please indulge me in helping him achieve this goal.

I will be dying soon; when is anybody’s guess. This sucks, of course, totally. But I am content. I look at my life and am satisfied — and that’s saying a lot. A definition of successful, even. I count myself lucky. Blessed. Full. Rich.” — Max Beck, Dec. 31, 2007

On Jan. 12, less than two weeks after Joseph Maxfield Beck, known to everyone as Max, wrote this final entry in his blog, he succumbed to cancer, at home and surrounded by those who loved him. And despite the pain he suffered from chemo, radiation, side effects of powerful drugs and just being sick all the time, he never lost his spirit, said his wife, Tamara Beck.

“He was diagnosed in March 2005 and it was stage four then,” she said this week, seated on the couch in her Grant Park home. “He was such a fighter. He said, ‘I’ll be the miracle case.’”

Beck, who was born intersexed and lived most of his life as a woman, was 41 when he died of vaginal cancer. He is survived by his family, including his wife, 7-year-old daughter and 2-year-old son.“My family speaks for itself. Something I never even thought I would, or could, have," Beck wrote in his final blog entry. "I found my soul mate, and she dragged me kicking and screaming into marriage and fatherhood. Kicking and screaming, and I am so glad that she did, for my children are the center of my world, a miracle of noise and laughter and mayhem of which I am so proud and — every day — in breathless amazement.”'

UNFINISHED GIRL'

Arriving home from school during this interview, Beck's daughter introduced herself, then announced, “Daddy’s not here."

Tamara explained to her precocious child with an affinity for dinosaurs that daddy was going to be in the newspaper. “He would have liked that,” said Tamara, who serves as the Grant Park playgroup liaison.

Max wasn’t a stranger to publicity and felt telling his story was a form of activism, Tamara said.He was interviewed by CNN’s Anderson Cooper in 2005, featured on The Learning Channel, profiled on the HBO documentary “Middle Sexes” and appeared on the PBS series Nova.

Max unabashedly told his story of being intersexed to not only reporters, but to young people facing the same struggle and doctors who have intersex patients. One of his passions was working with the Intersex Society of North America (www.isna.org).

Max very frankly discussed his experience of being raised a girl named Judy — an “unfinished girl” the doctors explained when she was a preteen undergoing hormone therapy and eventually genital surgery.

At the time, Tamara said, doctors believed in assigning most children born with ambiguous genitalia as girls because, and she quoted one doctor, “It’s easier to make a hole than build a pole.”Judy eventually married a man, but decided she was a butch lesbian when she fell head-over-heels in love with Tamara in 1992 after the two met in college in Pennsylvania.

When Judy told Tamara that she had a “horrible” secret, Tamara said, ironically, she feared Judy had cancer.

But when Judy — and Tamara is careful to talk about Judy and Max as they were, actually, two different people — told Tamara her “shameful secret,” Tamara said she told Judy it didn’t matter “because I love you.”

“The horrible thing of it was this amazing person was carrying around this enormous secret alone,” Tamara said.“She was and he was the most interesting person I met. He was incredibly deep, able to see beyond the banter to the important stuff,” Tamara added. “Everybody liked him. He had charisma. He had a genuine way of relating to people that was refreshing and surprising."

There is a match to your rough edges, Tamara explained, and Max was that to her. “That was my person,” she said. “He was the person who loved me unconditionally. We had a deep knowledge of each other. I was very lucky — I suspect most people don’t have that.”

FROM JUDY TO MAX

Max Beck found out about being intersex by accident when he sent off for vaccination records needed for a job. His childhood medical records showed he was a “male pseudo hermaphrodite.” Never completely comfortable as a woman, Judy began pondering becoming a man.

It was at an Atlanta Feminist Women’s Chorus concert, when they both went to the women’s restroom and were looked at by other lesbians as “some strange heterosexual couple,” that the couple decided to make serious changes. “That was an eye-opening experience,” Tamara said. “Even among our own we were different.”

Judy changed her name legally to Max and in 1998 started taking testosterone. A visit to the DMV for a driver’s license renewal resulted in a happy accident when a customer service employee took one look at Max and replaced the “F” with an “M” on his license. With that official designation, the two were able to legally marry in 2000.

At the time the couple got together, Tamara said she identified as a lesbian. But by staying with Judy and then Max, her love never faltering, she admitted she doesn’t really know how to classify herself.

“Does that make me the ultimate bisexual?” she asked.

Max never identified as a man, but if society gives you two boxes and male is how you are going to present, then a male you are, Tamara said.

“He did have some guilt about passing and the social privilege,” she said. “But just seeing him change from Judy to Max … there were subtle changes, but some of it was very core,” she said.

The couple never hid from their children, conceived with the help of donor sperm, that at one time daddy was a girl; photos of Judy and Tamara together still line the hallway of their home. To their daughter, the anguish her father suffered as a girl was simply “doctors being mean to daddy,” Tamara said.

For Max, gender was never simply either-or, she added. “He maintained a fluid identity where gender was concerned. Even when we were lesbians, he wanted to be the father,” she said.

As a man with vaginal cancer, Max Beck did not have a built-in support system to deal with this specific issue. A friend suggested he contact the Atlanta Lesbian Health Initiative, and there he found a small, intimate and close group to share his feelings, said ALHI Executive Director Linda Ellis.

LIVING WITH CANCER

“He called us because there was no one else to call,” Ellis said. “It took some conversations to explain and educate folks, but there was never a question [whether] he was welcome.”Ellis came to know Beck as a man whose wife and children were the most important things to him.

“Max had the amazing ability to take what life handed him and build a life out of it,” she said.“There are parts of his story that at first you want to gawk at, like a car accident. And every time a new person came to the group, he had to come out again every time,” she said, “but he did it with incredible grace.”

Ellis described his life as a “radical nature of normalcy.” Not only did he devote his life to his family, he was a recent graduate of the Rollins School of Public Health at Emory University. By simply being who he was, he set an example for all of us, Ellis added.

“I want people to know Max’s story,” she said. “He lived life openly and with grace — and that is my best hope for all of us.”

The ALHI cancer support group continues to meet the first and third Thursday of every month, Ellis said.

“I'm content, I suppose, despite what can only be described as a raw deal, because, in retrospect, I discover I have lived a meaningful life. I have to confess, this wasn't something I planned...it just sort of, well, happened. But it did, leaving me and, I like to think, all of you, the richer.” — Max Beck

Karate Kid II

Life often imitates work: If I just put off making a decision long enough, the situation will resolve itself. So yesterday we went to our second martial arts class. I made sure to arrive early, as I knew the boys would be getting their uniforms, and corralling them into changing clothes/getting ready for class would be a time suck.

The atmosphere this time was different: Music playing, grown-ups sparring, Two senseis on the scene. With uniforms in hand, we sat down on the side of the mat to watch the adult boxing/kickboxing class. Not there for even one minute, Sensei called, "Hey Mom! Do you want to join us in class?" Yes! Yes! Yes! I do! So I quickly changed my clothes and got down to business. Lifting the free weights, doing sit-ups, following Sensei's order. Sensei told the boys where to sit and kept them out of trouble while I got some much-needed exercise. When it was time to "work the heavy bag," (and by that I mean the boxing training device, not myself), Sensei let me borrow some boxing gloves and gave me a quick instruction on what to do. Then--and this is my favorite part--he told the boys to come sit on the edge of the mat near me and "Show your mother some respect." I'm in love!

Class proceeded like this for about 30 minutes. Then it was time for the boys to do their thing. This time, Booper was all about it. He performed every element of class, start to finish, including the vocal parts. (e.g. Ooos, Sensei.) He had a blast, giggling, listening, enthralled by Sensei and the other kids in his class. Dream come true. The Caboose...not so much. I got the uniform on him, and he promptly stripped it off, standing in class in his diaper. Sensei laughed and told me his son did the same thing when he was Caboose's age, and it's probably because the new uniform is itchy. I participated in class again this time, but really just with the Caboose, who was not that into it. The Boop was doing his own thing.

Now we can't wait to go back this week, and I'm hoping to work something out with the Handyman so I can go to this boxing/kickboxing class regularly. If you've never put on boxing gloves and kicked/punched the bejesus out of something, I gotta tell you. It's a revelation.

Wax On, Wax Off

Last week, the Handyman took Booper to what we hoped would be the first of many kids martial arts classes. True to form, The Boop was cautious about the new situation and elected not to participate. He sat with his Dad, watching closely, and they agreed that next time he would give it a whack.

Afterward, I had a brainstorm and thought it might be easier for Booper to venture forth if the Caboose tried it with him. (They are thick as thieves.) I researched the options in our area and yesterday took them to a preschool martial arts class for kids ages 2.5 to 5. (They are 2.5 (Caboose) and 4.5 (Booper)). When we arrived at the dojo, we met Sensei (who, not for noting, was smokin' hot) and waited for class to begin. Sensei was the main teacher, and he had two assistants, both boys around 13 or 14 years old. My kids generally respond well to older boys like that. Booper was willing to stand with the other kids in the line--an improvement over last time--but would not otherwise take part in class. He was obviously shy (he had his fingers in his mouth, which he only does when he's anxious and shy) and just wanted to watch. The Caboose, on the other hand, was a prodigy. He kicked, punched, jumped, ran, stretched, and bowed. All while listening closely to Sensei. He did it all, and loved it. To encourage The Boop to try it, I started in the class myself. Sensei encouraged me to participate, and it was fun! But I was a little apprehensive that my participation would undermine the goal: to help Booper develop self-confidence, self-discipline and strength. Also, because he has gentle female teachers all day, I thought it would be good for him/them to experience a more firm, strict male teacher.

When class was over, Booper, who is the total sweetness, told me, "Mommy, I am so proud of you for doing the class. You did a great job." Because he struggles with trying new things, I got the feeling that it really impressed him that I was willing to just try something and not let its newness get in my way. So right there I was feeling like maybe I had done the right thing by leaping in.

After class, Sensei told me that he thought both boys could enroll and that it's not uncommon for some kids to be reluctant in the first class. Given a few more sessions, he expects Booper to be roundhousing with the best of them. He also told me that I am welcome to participate in class with them, at no extra charge. I would really like to, but I am torn. Let me break it down for you:

Pros: 1) Martial arts becomes a family activity, which I would like more of, since the boys go to preschool fulltime. 2) The boys see me model the kind of behavior that I would like them to exhibit. i.e. willingness to try new things, listening to teacher, focused attention in class. 3) I get a chance to learn martial arts and get some exercise.

Cons: 1) The Boop does not get this opportunity to master his fear of doing new things alone. i.e. I am horning in on his action. 2)....there really is no 2. That's all I got.

Mitigating factors: Both boys attend preschool fulltime, while I am at work. We get exactly zero complaints about their behavior at school. Their teachers love them and they are popular with the other kids (Booper is maybe a little too popular. 4 girls in his class plan to marry him.) Booper is the oldest child in his class, which we notice has done a tremendous amount for his self-confidence, after being the youngest/smallest for a while the year before. Next year, he will likely start kindergarten. We would like this to ease this transition for him as much as possible, hence our objective to give him some experience with new environments. Point being: it's not like I am with them all the time, smothering them, and preventing them from being independent. But we want to help foster independence as a general principle.

Can you tell I'm feeling conflicted? What do you think? Should I do the class with them? Just do a couple classes until they are comfortable? Not do the class at all and make Booper cowboy up?

Please advise.

Can I get a witness?

Max's wife Tamara has made public the details of Max's memorial service. It's on February 5th, his birthday, in Atlanta. I'm fairly certain that I won't be able to make the trip again this time, and am feeling satisfied that I went when he was still alive and he could know I was there. But I'm wondering if any of the Kimchi Mamas (or other readers) who live in that general area would be willing to attend as my proxy. If you think you could swing it, please post in the comment section. I feel strongly that Max deserves a huge turnout for his memorial and that I would like to make people aware of the issues he worked so hard to represent.

Otherwise, here's the link to the details. If you are familiar with Max's story, you'll see some links to charities that mattered to him, if you are feeling so inclined.

http://www.dogearedpress.com/max/maxblog/

The End

Those of you who have read this blog for the last little bit have heard me mention my childhood friend, Max Beck. Max died on Saturday after a long battle with cancer. I have a lot I want to write about him, but right now it's all too raw. So, I am pasting in a transcript from an interview that Max did with Anderson Cooper about the issue of intersexuality. The first part of the transcript is lifted from "Middle Sexes," a documentary Max was in that is occasionally aired on HBO.

MAX BECK, BORN INTERSEXUAL: When I was born doctors couldn't determine if I was a boy or a girl. I had what are described as ambiguous genitalia. My parents were confused, scared, they weren't able to tell anyone who knew they'd had a child if it was a boy or a girl.
GORE VIDAL, NARRATOR, "MIDDLE SEXES": Max was just a year old when his phallus was surgically reduced. He was brought up as a girl, Judy, who underwent a whole series of operations until the age of 15, never once being told what they were for.
BECK: For 20 odd years I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone about this and didn't tell -- just like my mother didn't tell -- her best friend. I never even told my best friend.
VIDAL: By her late teens Judy felt confused. She tried a relationship with a boy -- and a girl.
BECK: Whereas my male partner, boyfriend, had not commented on the difference in my genital anatomy -- which incidentally I wasn't even aware of at the time -- my female partner did. She said something. She said, boy, Judy you sure are weird. I came away from that thinking of myself as a monster or a freak. And so I decided that I would avoid that upset by being with men. So I quite literally settled down with the next guy to come along.
VIDAL: Judy simply married a male friend from college. But the relationship was short-lived. Judy had met Tamara.
UNIDENTIFIED FEMALE: I was really excited. It was definitely a case of love at first sight. Sparks just flew. It was magic.
BECK: I looked at her and fell in love with her. It was love at first sight. She was breathtakingly beautiful.
VIDAL: Then a bombshell. I needed my childhood immunization records. So I contacted my childhood pediatrician and found that he had retired. And the woman who had taken over his practice had someone photocopy my records and mail them. And I opened my mail in a diner in a Center City, Philadelphia. And right after my name, which at the time was Judy Elizabeth Beck, were the words "male pseudo hermaphrodite". And I was devastated and dumbfounded. At the same time it was almost a relief because I had a label. Not only did I know that was monster, but I could point in a textbook at exactly what kind of monster I was.
VIDAL: The couple lived in an open lesbian relationship, but Judy's knowledge of her own medical history was gnawing at her. I began to question how valid a lesbian identity was; if I'm not female, can I be a lesbian? I'm thinking in those vicious circles and undermining this precious shred of identity that I had finally obtained through Tamara (ph) and (INAUDIBLE) depression and I was hospitalized.
VIDAL: What emerged from this turmoil was a man. Judy became Max. The full transition took four years and incredibly the loving bond with Tamara survived. They live as man and wife with a child conceived by Tamara.
BECK: I don't have a male identity. And I don't know that I ever had a female identity, but I certainly don't have one now. And if pressed I supposed I would say I have an inter-sexed identity.
UNIDENTIFIED FEMALE: We've been together more than 10 years now and we're still together. This is the same person that I fell in love with. You know over the next 50 years his hair is going to fall out and he's going to get wrinkles and he's still going to be my Max.

(END VIDEOTAPE)
COOPER: It is a remarkable story and joining me now from Atlanta is Max Beck. Max, thanks for being with us.
MAX BECK, BORN INTERSEXUAL: My pleasure.
COOPER: Was it difficult for you to agree to do this?
BECK: No, not at all.
COOPER: What went into the decision? I mean, did you want -- what do you want people to know?
BECK: Well, it's very important to me and other folks who are involved with ISNA, the Intersex Society of North America, to increase public awareness. Let people know about intersexuality, the various conditions, and also call their attention to the fact that these surgeries in early childhood often -- harmful surgeries, obviously emotionally very harmful later in life, but also potentially physically harmful surgeries are still happening.
COOPER: What do you think parents should do? I mean, you're parents decided -- how did they make that decision, by the way, to have surgery to try to make you a girl?
BECK: This what the doctors told them. This was 1966. My parents had never heard of any such thing as intersexuality; had no idea that this was a possibility. And here they were with a brand new infant and the doctors couldn't tell them if that infant was a boy or a girl. The prevailing treatment paradigm at the time was to surgically intervene and create normal appearing female genitalia and raise that child female. And that was the doctors very strong recommendation.
COOPER: And what do you think parents -- what -- as you look back on that, what do you think your parents should have done? Or do you wish they had done?
BECK: Well, clearly, there needed to be a gender of assignment. And be it male or female. We are understanding now a great deal more about certain biological markers that can give the doctors a better understanding as to whether a male or female gender identity is likely to develop. But avoiding the early childhood surgeries, leaving the anatomy intact until the individual can actually be part of informed consent.
COOPER: Do you think there was an age when it became clear to you, that something was different?
BECK: I think that -- yes, I think from my earliest recollections, my earliest memories I was aware of the fact that there was something different. My life was a series of visits to doctors, specialists, men poking around between my legs with no explanation as to what was going on. I knew --
COOPER: What would they tell you about those doctor visits? Because you continued to have surgeries and without any explanation of why you were having surgeries?
BECK: Well, when I reached an age that I think at around 11 or 12, I needed to have some major surgery. It was explained to me that I was a girl, but I wasn't finished yet. And that was the doctor's explanation. That was the extent of the explanation.
COOPER: Did that make sense to you? I mean, it sounds --
BECK: No, it didn't. I certainly didn't question. I mean, so much of it was tied in with my parents and my family. It was emotionally devastating for my mother to talk about it. It was impossible for her to talk about it. The doctors had told her not to talk about it with me. And, you know, she was able to comply because she couldn't talk about it without just falling to pieces. And so I learned from a very early age not to ask those questions, certainly not of my parents. COOPER: Well, it's great that you are talking about it now. The documentary is called "Middle Sexes: Redefining He and She". It premieres on our sister network, HBO, tomorrow night, 9:30 Eastern. We'll definitely be watching. Thanks so much. It's good to meet you.
BECK: My pleasure. Same here.

Gentle reader: If you're still with me, I ask that you click on the link at right to Max's blog and read his final post there.

Max, I'll see you next time.

The "F" Word

After a good night's sleep, and some Diet Mountain Dew, I figured out what I was trying to say in yesterday's scatalogical post: Feminist. That's the word I was looking for.

There was a commenter in MN's aforementioned blog who suggested that a woman drowning in a toxic and deteriorating marriage should give her husband another chance (for the nth time) because "marriage is work." This remark chapped my hide, and it took me a day to figure out why. How is it that the wife should "give him another chance" and "stick with marriage even though it's work," but the selfish, unrepentant dude is not required to do any of said work, or change his behavior in any way. This is sexist and anti-woman.

At the time, I was tempted to use the F word in my comment. I held off for fear of alienating my fellow bloggers. But if what Halfmama says is true, whatever appeal I have as a blogger comes from my willingness to be candid. So I will invoke the "F" word now. I am a feminist and proud of it. Does that mean I hate men? Hell to the no. I love men. I even married one. I live with all males, and wouldn't have it any other way. I have no sisters, only a brother that I adore. Men. Men. Men. I love men! But that doesn't mean I can't be a feminist.

How does feminism tie in to my poop story from yesterday? Because that anecdote typifies how women are often socialized to not reveal the truly ugly parts of their individual experiences, especially when it comes to childbirth. It's all prettied up, sanitized for our protection. A conspiracy theorist might say it's to keep us all breeding. I don't believe that. But I do think it's a holdover from a Victorian Era that encourages women not to be graphic, ribald, or frank with each other about what happens with their bodies. Phooey on that.

To strengthen each other, we really should reveal the good, the bad, and the ugly:

Yes! You're going to dump on the delivery table!

Yes! You are going to have your period for like 4 weeks after the baby comes out.

Yes! You will have bed-soaking night sweats after delivering.

Yes! There will likely be a medical student or fumbling resident in your delivery room as a "learning opportunity." (My first-timer asked if he could "check me" during a contraction, to which I shrieked, "Get away from me!" Of course, I was foolish enough to have my baby in July. Everyone knows you should never go to the hospital in July.)

Yes! Your privates will be eyeballed by everyone, including janitorial staff, and you won't give a damn because you just want that baby out!

Yes! You will have stitches somewhere, either in the cooter or the belly depending on how things go for you. (With Baxter, I even had one in my clitoris because I tore so much. Did I mention he had a HUGE head?)

Yes! Breastfeeding hurts for the first 10-14 days even if you are doing it right!

No! You will not want to have sex even after the doctor says you can.

In an effort to strengthen our ties to each other as women, I invite you to post/comment with your hidden truths about childbearing. Not to scare away the women who haven't done it yet. But to prepare them for what they will face. It's the sisterly thing to do. No...it's the feminist thing to do.

The Poop

I was reading Mama Nabi's blog post from yesterday, and she mentioned that she got a fax from Mr. Brown while she was in labor. Her husband--PN--felt he should announce this to the entire delivery room, which was mean and unnecessary. But I started thinking about this whole dooky thing, and I can't help wondering why this fact of labor is shrouded in secrecy. It's natural, so why should we feel embarassed.

Based on the commentors on MN's blog, a lot of women drop a deuce during labor. Probably most women do. Isn't there safety in numbers?

Now that we are on the subject, I'll share with you a little story about what often happens after the baby comes. When Booper was about 3 weeks old, I was struggling mightily with the breastfeeding. For one, I could only nurse on the right side due to a lumpectomy I had on the left side when I was a teenager (that's a whole other story I won't bore you with now.) The left one made milk, but I couldn't get it out. Wow! Engorgement is no joke. So I was just nursing on the right. The right side, unfortunately, had developed a yeast infection from the antibiotics I was given during labor. (I became feverish, and they didn't know why, so they just threw a bunch of meds at me to see what would stick.) Any of you who have had mammary yeast know that it hurts like a mo-fo. And modern medicine has come up with exactly ZERO effective ways to treat this nightmare. But to address the pain, my doctor gave me some Tylenol #3 (you know, the good kind, with the codeine.)

Long story longer, Tylenol #3 can be very constipating. As can breastfeeding, if you don't drink enough water. Between the two, I became so stool-challenged that I passed out on the toilet trying to do my thing. That's right. Fainted dead away, banged my head on the sink, and hit the deck. With my maternity panties around my ankles and my nursing nightie in a twist.

Fortunately, the Handyman was home and he helped me get into bed (now that, people, is love.) The next day, I went to the doctor to get a check-up. Of course, first time in my life that I have a cute young doctor. Imagine my joy when I get to say, "Well, Dr. Delicious, last night I passed out on the crapper. How's your day going?"

Once again, I find myself at the end of my post without a point. I'll get back to you on this. Or better yet, can we go interactive and you can tell me my point in the comments section?

So here I am at work, not working. Instead I am reading blogs. As per usual, I check the status on Mama Nabi, only to find that she has added me to her Blog Roll! Wow! I'm so excited, I could pop a tire! (As Mater would say. And if you don't know who Mater is, then you obviously don't have a son age 6 or younger.) Such high praise as this deserves a new blog post, so here I go.

I am not feeling particularly controversial today, but I will try to put forth some observations anyway, as you are no doubt intrigued by me after reading my fascinating meme. This picture here is of the Caboose. At his holiday sing-along. He is goddamn cute, is what he is. His teachers drew on his nose with lipstick. That's me behind him. Somehow this photo makes it look like I have a really smokin' bod. Trust me, I don't. But you do get a good look at my preternaturally long thumbs.

On Monday, I submitted our enrollment application for kindergarten for the Booper. While I love to sing the praises of the city by the Bay, this is one part of living in SF that is jacked up. You have to apply for public school. You supply a list of 7 schools you would send your child to, in order of preference. Then the school district has a "lottery" in which you are assigned to a school, hopefully from your list. So there is no guarantee that my kids will get into the elementary school that is just 3 blocks from my house. Our alternative to this is to pay $20K/yr for private school (I sh*t you not). Some people send their kids to Catholic school, which is about half that much, but that's not an option for us. I know, I know. Jewish people send their kids to Catholic schools, too. blah blah blah. We've been over this. Not. Gonna. Happen.

I think I've decided to vote for Barack Obama. While I totally dig the idea of a woman President, I am annoyed at this current trend of passing the Presidency around like a joint, as Mos Def would say. Let's give someone else a turn. Especially if that someone else is Hapa!

About 17 years ago, I was dating this dude. He is now married and has a son. He keeps a blog about his son, and just posted a bunch of pictures of their holiday in Ohio. I lurked over there and checked them out. He looks old, my ex-boyfriend, and is still as dull and unoriginal as he ever was, but his kid is really cute. This was the boyfriend who taught me the valuable lesson that sometimes shyness can be a form of hostility.

Alright, I'm going to make a concerted effort now to do some work. Especially since Halfmama and I are trying to plan a family vacation for this summer. But I'll be back. As soon as something pisses me off, and that can't be long from now.