Card-Carrying Member of a Grocery Store Near You

There's something very comforting about going to the grocery store that I can't really explain. (English majors will be quick to call this a DeLillo-esque moment... I too am disoriented when they rearrange the aisles.) Whenever I grab a squeaking, rusted cart that was hauled in by the pimpled high school student who's trying to hide his hideous skin condition with a patchy beard and stroll through that automatic door, I know for a fact that tasty treats await me.

The store goes out of its way to make you feel like its friend. Every store now has its own membership card to make you feel like part of the family... that family that unfortunately includes the mustachioed obese person of questionable gender who runs the lotto machine over by the coin changer. Every store has one.

Shop n' Save apparently has two different cards. I tried to use my Morgantown discount card at the Kittanning Shop n' Save, and they wouldn't take it. Bastards! The membership card doesn't make a whole lot of sense. It's free to get one, but you need it to get all of the discounts in the store. As far as I can tell, it's how they track your purchases. Personally, I find it to be a bit comforting that Big Brother wants to know when I buy a tube of Preparation-H and a box of Cookie Crisp. It feels like the grocery watchers are looking out for me.

More fun would be had if people actually were looking out for me. I buy a box of Twinkies and suddenly several large men appear to say, "Excuse me, JP. Are you sure you really want to buy that? You've purchased several boxes of Cheez-It, two tubs of ice cream, and several containers of cheez whiz in the last week. We demand that you buy those carrot sticks over there. They're only $2.99 with your Rewards card."

The grocery store is a weird place to be. You see people all over the place, but it creates a very uncomfortable situation if you actually talk to them. Ever need something that someone else is looking over? You and this complete stranger are now staring intently at the pickles trying to decide which flavor is the best. Sudden despair overtakes you as you realize that this is the most critical decision that you've had to make all day.

Oftentimes I'll buy things at the store that I don't need so that I don't look like some sort of freak with one unusual item. Who wants to go the register carrying nothing but a stick of deodorant? Everyone will be thinking, "He must need that stick of deodorant RIGHT NOW!"

Everyone's had that situation where you've put something into your cart, but then several aisles later, you realize that you can't afford (or digest in good conscience) the item that you just bought. Unfortunately, you're also incredibly lazy, so instead of returning the item to where it belongs, you shove it somewhere nearby. But I never just think, "Ah, fuck it. I'll drop it on the floor if I want." I try to be all James Bond about it. I wait until I think no one's looking and then shove it in with something that looks similar. "Ha ha! No one will ever notice that I put this can of cheese sauce in with the orange juice!

Along the same lines, have you ever broken something in the supermarket? I've done it in plain view of other people, and I just walk away like nothing happened. "Never mind that giant pool of pasta sauce on the floor or the splatters of red and bits of broken glass on my pants. I was only a witness, sir! The real Prego hater is getting away as we speak!" I can be a saucy boy in such situations. :)

Sometimes I have evil thoughts in the store. What if I spit in the cabbage? Who would know? It would serve them right for leaving it out in the open like that. Hey, there's a guy who's left a full cart of groceries unattended! I like what he has. Maybe I'll take his cart and leave him with mine. That would save me a lot of time. Besides, it's not like they're his products yet. At this point, they're still on loan from the store.

I repeatedly get the idea of purposely pissing off parents who have children in the store. I'd love to go into the cereal or candy aisle and listen for some parent to tell his or her children that they can't have some sugary treat and then promptly go up and grab five of whatever it is. Then I'd loudly declare, "Oh boy!! Fruit Roll-Ups!! These are so delicious... and good for you!"

But I usually make it to the cashier without causing much trouble. The last time I was there, I wondered about the pin-number machine. You know, you swipe your credit/debit card and type in your pin number. The machine always asks, "Amount OK?" What if I say no? "I'm sorry PIN machine, but that amount is much more than I would care to pay." The cashier never even gives me the option. "Hit the green button!" she'll demand. Boy does she get pissed if you "accidentally" hit the red button. That's always a fun time. "Sorry, miss, it's color blindness. You should see me at traffic lights!"

Finally, you're out in the parking lot. But has the fun ended... absolutely not. Now you get to play bumper carts with the people leave their shopping carts wherever they jolly well please. Now I'm lazy, but I always take my cart to the cart return. Granted, I'm as irritated as the next guy that the cart return is always five feet from the front entrance instead of in the middle of the parking lot, but I also don't need some wayward cart slamming into my car. More importantly, I don't need MY cart slamming into the car of some irate burly man.

After all, he might be the guy that I switched carts with earlier.

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Your Local Supermarket: Providing low prices and quality products... and all you have to do is allow the store to record the fact that you're buying nothing but canned meat, a tub of margarine, and a bottle of whiskey on a Friday night.

Locks of Love

The English department just moved into a new building a few weeks ago. On the whole, it's a better pad than the old building - no asbestos, clear drinking water, working roach traps, etc. But there's one problem with the building that bothers me. It's not that we don't have air conditioning yet, though that's an annoyance. My big complaint is that there are no locks on the men's bathrooms.

What makes this complaint a big deal is that these are one-man bathrooms. You walk in and there's a sink, and then a urinal, and then a toilet. There are no stalls. You can just stroll in and see everything. I don't like the idea of someone swinging open the door so that the faculty and ten students waiting to conference can see my fat pasty ass taking a big shit.

The department's solution: post-it notes that say "Occupied" that are to put on the door when in use. Personally I think that's just asking for trouble. For me, the biggest laugh is that the bathrooms are the ONLY doors without a lock. All of our offices have locks; the resource rooms have locks; the classrooms have locks; the main office has a lock; and the entire building has an elaborate security system. This indicates to me that they ordered these lockless doors for the bathroom on purpose. Do the designers of the building have some sort of fetish for voyeurism and Cleveland Steamers?

English department: I want some goddamn locks on the bathroom doors. I'll even take a chain or sliding lock. Hell, give me a block of wood to wedge under the door when I'm in there. I'm sick of going to down the first floor whenever I need to poop just because it's the only bathroom that you've deemed worthy of having a separate stall. Could it be because the first floor is where all the department heads and secretaries work?

Nah.

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This post was brought to you by 1-ply toilet paper: made from sandpaper and stocked in university bathrooms across the nation so that it's nearly impossible for you to pull it off of the mammoth roll that it comes on.

Our Quiet, Little, White-Bred, Redneck, Mountain Town

The entire Morgantown area needs to be condemned. The town is literally falling apart at the seams. While the university manages to keep a fairly good handle on its own stuff, the college acts like the tapeworm on the colon that is Morgantown. WVU had 27,500 enrolled students as of Fall 2007, and this town just can't sustain them all.

Almost all of the houses in downtown Morgantown have been converted into rental properties for undergraduates, and they've devolved into complete slums. Because the need for housing is so high, the landlords have zero incentive to keep their houses looking nice. After all, undergraduate frat boy assholes will live anywhere. The phrase "roaches on the table" doesn't have to refer to pot in this town.

Driving around town, it's almost sad to see how many houses simply need a coat of paint... or just washed. It wouldn't take that much to make these houses look somewhat presentable. There was a nice little fiasco a few months back because the front of a house collapsed, injuring several people. Turns out an unsurprising number of domiciles in the Morgantown area need to be condemned.

The roads are just as bad. I've bitched about Morgantown roads before. Some of these roads are simply unsafe. There's one road (Falling Run Road) that's used quite a bit by students, but there's no sidewalk. The road is built at a 70 degree angle, and it's literally road-curb-20 foot drop. You've got people walking in the middle of the street as cars come barreling around these blind curves. This road ends at a five-way stop, where one road has the right-of-way, but only about 50% of the population knows this. I'm surprised people don't die on a regular basis.

I don't live within walking distance of the campus, and that's a pain in the ass at times, but there are very few places in the downtown area that are, in my opinion, livable. Some of these homes are perched precariously on the sides of cliffs. Only some duct tape, dried semen, and regular prayers to Vishnu are keeping these buildings from collapsing onto other poorly built housing. I found out recently that the entire town is built on abandoned mine shafts. Mine subsidence insurance is apparently impossible to get here. It's nice to know that everyone's in danger of falling into a giant crevice at any moment.

Fun Fact: The word "Monongahela" is an American Indian word meaning "high banks breaking off or falling down in places." What dipshit came to this place, heard that meaning, and decided to build a big university right along the Monongahela River? "Golly Elmer, ain't nuthin' more solid than a crumbling river bank! Let's build us one of them learnin' factories!" (Before townies start bitching at me for stereotyping them, let me direct your attention to the naming of "Don Knotts Boulevard." Point, Set, Match!)

The snow destroys the roads. The roads destroy the people. The people destroy the houses. The houses destroy any sense of beauty that this town might possess.

Oh, and the glowing green river water and the nearby nuclear power plant don't make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside... except when the cancer starts to grow in my colon.

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The Morgantown Convention and Visitors Bureau does not support, condone, endorse, or give free blowjobs to JP. His opinions are his own, and we actually believe that Morgantown has a rustic charm and beauty that can only be surpassed by the magnificence of you beautiful tourists with your outside money.

And Now a Few Words from Whitey

Because I can't just let a legitimate perspective sit on my blog like a possible source of understanding, I decided to transform my brief blurb on race relations into a completely asinine post of its own.

Racism is an extremely taboo subject if you're white. Bringing it up will subject you to nothing but scorn and ridicule unless you do it just right. For instance, you can't bring it up in Kittanning bars unless it's in the form of "I hate those fucking Niggers!" or "Fucking Wetbacks are stealing all our jobs!" Never mind the fact that there are maybe ten black people and zero Mexicans within a 30 mile radius of the town. Also, it's not enough to use an extremely offensive racial slur; true acceptance is not reached until you add "fucking" before it.

Fun can also be found in the English department. My students had a field day with an assignment I gave them about euphemisms. I asked them to think about euphemisms that they see in everyday life. At least five white students complained about the term African-American. Their basic argument was, "Hey, if it gets the meaning across, then one word is as good as another." At first I thought, "Damn these crackers be racist," but then my lone black student made the same argument, and this small town white authority figure was left with a conundrum.

They all got an "A." Except for one kid who didn't meet the page requirement. I love busting people on a technicality. White cops have fun with that too.

[Side note: I hate the term "African American" as well. Not only does it sound patronizing, but it's also inaccurate in many cases. Not all black people come from Africa, and not all Africans are black. The whitest professor in the English department is from South Africa. No amount of political correctness is going to give him the term "African American."]

Even better is having fun with racism in a graduate class. Batmite is from India, and it's always fun to see how he's become the authority figure for all discussions of brown people. "Gee Golly, Batmite! What do you think about the plight of the African American slave?" But no matter what he says, he gets a free pass. I think he likes to see what he can get away with. "Oh, I think the white plantation owners weren't given a fair shake by historians." "Tell us more, oh wise brown man!"

Last spring I read James Baldwin's The Fire Next Time. [Basic Summary: White people repeatedly screw over black guy. Black guy gets pissed. Black guy chronicles how he dealt with racial issues.] I actually really liked the book, but I didn't know how I was supposed to analyze it, so I titled my response paper, "And Now a Few Words from Whitey." The paper basically outlined how I didn't know how to respond to this book because Baldwin said that white people can never understand the plight of blacks. This was right near the end of the spring semester when my disenchantment with the English department really kicked into high gear, and I was fully expecting (and perhaps hoping for) a big brouhaha from the professor.

She fucking loved it.

The class did too. They all started sharing their tales of how they don't know any black people either. [Note: The WVU English department is filled to the brim with white people.] One woman who's from the Ukraine didn't understand why I couldn't relate. After all, didn't I face persecution because of my Lithuanian heritage? That's right, Natasha. All the honkies form a mob and shout "LET'S GET THAT VILNIUS VERMIN!"

Batmite was asked after class if the discussion made him uncomfortable. Because, of course, talking about how white people don't understand black people would have a personal impact on the guy from India.

I should perform a little experiment while I'm still here. I should get Batmite to make an extremely politically incorrect argument about race in one class, and then try to make the same argument myself in another class. It would help if I wear something really white. If only I had something that would qualify....
Checkmate, bitches!

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Racism: Proving to be an untapped resource for funny anecdotes, lame puns, and incriminating tales about the English department. Hooray for Racism!!

The Cynic's Manifesto

Would you really trust this man's opinion?

So as I was perusing some of my usual blogs as well as those of some other people, I noticed that a lot of people are much more forthcoming about themselves. Instead of cryptic comments that are interlaced with trivial tales that are often posted on the flimsiest of pretenses, other bloggers actually post about worthwhile topics about issues that are important to them. So for something completely different, I thought I'd actually have a go at giving a few insights into how I actually think, with a limited amount of bullshittery involved.

This also serves as a much belated response to Virgil's tag regarding eight things you didn't know about me. These aren't necessarily secrets, and some of these may have been hinted at in previous posts, but I like to think that I'm secretive enough (or at least sarcastically humorous enough) to keep people from knowing this stuff legitimately.

Enjoy this peek into my brain:

1. I'm kinda racist. I thought I'd start with that one just to make everyone comfortable. I'm not intentionally so, and I don't have any personal resentment toward minorities, but I know that I make a lot of rash assumptions about people based solely on the color of their skin. I've also laughed at racist jokes as some of them have clever wordplay. I try very hard to work through these things, but Kittanning is extremely white, so part of it is simply a lack of experience and/or knowledge (Penn State Erie and WVU aren't particularly diverse either... though I am living with a guy from India. He's my personal tolerance street cred :) Sometimes I don't even know what to do. Is it racist that I'm afraid to go through the black neighborhoods in Pittsburgh at night even though I know about the historical, cultural, and economic situations (often instigated by whites) that led to urban crime? I'm certainly not as racist as some people I know (and in fact I get really angry when people make serious racist statements), but I don't think a comparative scale works too well to exonerate me on this.

2. Related to the previous point, I'm not all that willing to defend my point of view in public settings. I'm not a particularly charismatic arguer if I'm not prepared, and I'm seldom prepared for most debates. Even when I think I'm prepared, I'll be properly schooled by those who have actually done legitimate research (re: the prosecutor from Morgantown). I can own anyone's ass in blog form (except maybe Virgil), but in real life, I'm fucking useless.

3. I'm politically apathetic. It's not that I don't care about political issues, but I have issues with both political parties. Republicans are far too religious and close-minded. Democrats are wishy-washy and unwilling to upset people. If I had to choose a candidate for the 2008 election right now, I'd probably pick Barack Obama. He seems like a decent guy. Hillary Clinton irritates me for some reason; she gives the appearance of being insincere.

4. This one's not news to anyone: I'm an atheist. I have no ill will towards churches. They do a lot of good sometimes, and I think a lot of people simply take comfort in the regularity of the church service and the chance to talk to someone about spiritual/personal/psychological matters (i.e. the priest). But I certainly don't think that there's an invisible man up in the sky who gives a shit about what I'm doing. Even if there is, I don't like the idea of any religion telling me what I can and cannot do in order to please the invisible man.

5. I don't always listen when people are talking to me even when it looks like I am. If I may brag for a moment, I look like I am a PHENOMENAL listener. I make eye contact, nod at the appropriate places, and give encouraging feedback. But in my head, I'm sometimes not even aware that you're in the room. Or (as with a lot of English majors) I'm thinking about what I'm going to say next without even worrying about what I'm replying to. I can be a self-centered prick.

6. I'm much taller than most women. As a result, I can stare at cleavage and enjoy the view while the unsuspecting woman thinks I'm looking her right in the eye. I respect women and believe in women's rights and equality... but I also like boobies. :) [Always fun to make my mom uncomfortable now that I know that she reads my blog.]

7. I've never been on an airplane, and I would really like to go somewhere that would warrant getting on one. The farthest from home that I've ever been was a trip to Florida during my senior Spring Break in college. I'd never seen a palm tree in real life before. I'd never gone swimming in the ocean before that. There are so many places that I'd like to go that I've only read about. At this point, I don't even think I'd care about the destination. Nebraska would be interesting to me.

8. Much as I hate grad school anymore, and as much as I don't care about any of the readings that I'm assigned, I feel really guilty about not doing the homework. I feel even worse that I never get caught. Everyone else does the work, and they get the same reward I get: a Master's Degree in English. I sometimes wonder if I'll be able to look at that degree when I have it and be able to feel like I deserve it. While I've never cheated on papers or in completing the assignments that are turned in, and even when I don't do the work, I'm still constantly worrying about it. I also worry that I'll always be caught (even though I never am). I'm convinced my current Drama professor is on to me, but thus far, I've been able to keep my head above water.

So there you have it, fair readers - a serious look at the man behind the moniker "JP." Those of you looking for lighter fare will have to wait. I actually have a few good ideas rolling around in my head, so fear not. My serious emotions will be put back into their little bottle and hidden behind a curtain of cynicism and apathy where they can safely grow into a cancerous tumor or a serious mental condition.

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JP: Expecting conversations with his female friends to be more complex now that they know that he's probably not listening to them and/or staring at their cleavage.

Building a Better Speed Trap

The following was sent to the English Department on Feb. 13:

"Starting today, Pennsylvania will launch a 30-day speeding ticket frenzy. The state estimates that 9 million dollars will be generated in speeding tickets. 1 million will go to pay state troopers' overtime. There will be 50 state troopers on duty at all times patrolling the 9 main intersections and highways... 5 mph above the limit can justify a ticket and every state trooper is supposed to pull a car over and write a ticket every 10 to 20 minutes. They have issued 30 brand new unmarked Dodge Charger Police cruisers and are bringing in all of their part timers on full time."

Well, I'm totally fucked. As if I wasn't a prime target for State Troopers BEFORE their little crackdown. How can they be required to ticket someone every 10 to 20 minutes? Isn't that like telling a beat cop that he or she has to shoot a perp every day?

The best part as that this is so obviously not for the safety of the people. They seem to be pretty up front about the fact that they're doing it for the money. If they actually cared about the safety of motorists, they'd initiate a long-term plan for eliminating speeding instead of coming up with a state trooper blitzkrieg.

And before you start harping, "Well you should slow down, asshole!" let me draw your attention to the "5mph over the limit can justify a ticket" line. Not a single one of you can tell me with a straight face that you've never gone five miles over the speed limit. Something about this just smells rotten to me.

And here's some more:
"Starting on August 15th, the price of a ticket for violation of PA Law 39:3-29 (failure to show your driver's license, registration, or insurance card at the time you are stopped) is going from $44.00 to $173.00. Please make sure your vehicles have the proper documents in them. If you jump in the car to run to the store and forget your wallet with your license in it and you are stopped.... Oh well... you just spent $173. And the fine for not having all three documents is $519!!!"

Doesn't this sound like something out of Nazi Germany or a movie set in the Soviet Union? How many times have you seen footage of people getting stopped by the police asking for papers? And didn't you always think to yourself, "Thank God they don't do that here in America!" Not anymore, friend. Better have your papers.

I know you all think I'm being melodramatic. Newcomers may want to check the following links:
JP Gets Raped
JP Gets Cocky
JP Gets Raped, Part Two
The Legal System Wipes Its Dick on JP's Teddy Bear
JP Finds Out That He Can Be Raped When He's Not Driving
The Police Give JP a Final "Fuck You" to Remember Them By

Needless to say, I'm a little jumpy when it comes to the traffic cops. This little speed smackdown is going to have me spending a lot more of my meager salary than I really had in mind. While it's always nice to know that my money is going to support local law enforcement, I somehow suspect that the nice policeman won't be thinking of me when he's enjoying the new plasma TV in the officer's lounge that I'm sure I'll be paying for.

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Speed Traps: Serving to make me a dangerously paranoid driver since 2002.

Today is a Good Day for Updates

Quit bitching about a lack of updates, or Lieutenant Worf will fuck your shit up.

I know it's been 10 days since my last update... and it was about sports. Fuck that noise. I'll get back on track here soon. Life just tends to get pretty damn monotonous during the spring semester. I don't want to blog about the English department every goddamn day.

Be patient, readers. My brilliance should not be allowed to stagnate.

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Lieutenant Worf - The new online bouncer for The Undesirable Element. He will put the Klingon kabosh on dissenters, complainers, trollers, and Jem'Hadar Stormtroopers. You don't fuck with Lieutenant Worf and then expect to live with your reproductive organs intact.

Land of the Giants

I've never blogged about sports. Not once. Not one single solitary time. Zilch. Zero. Nada. (Okay, except for that one time when I talked about the outdoor Pens game... guess I showed myself.) That's because I don't much like sports. More importantly, I don't really know all that much about sports. It's hard to be snarky when lacking information.

And yet I watched the Super Bowl this year.

Of all the sports, I actually kinda like watching football. Granted, if I'm not with anyone else, I'll seldom watch. Internet porn provides the more attractive draw (and after the last two posts, I have to salvage the remnants of my masculinity somehow). However, there's something about football that I really like. I think it's that every part of the game counts. In basketball and hockey, the game goes back and forth in a seemingly endless cycle, with the only interesting bits occurring near the end. Baseball is too slow (though my one friend will tell me I just don't understand that it's a game of anticipation).

Thus bringing me to Super Bowl XLII. I didn't really care about most of the game since the Steelers weren't in it, and as I said, I don't know much about football. I have, however, been following the news well enough to know that the New England Patriots had an undefeated season in both the regular and post-season. They've also won three Super Bowls in four years. I sense a team that brings a whole new meaning to the word "egocentric."

And the center of the Patriots' little monopoly on victory was their quarterback Tom Brady. Words like "perfection" and "destiny" were being tossed around on the news. I may not be a religious man, but even I know that impersonating a deity earns you a huge ass-kicking from irate other-worldly beings. It seemed like all over television, Tom Brady was being treated like God. Not even "a" god - like Apollo or Thor or something - but I think Brady was being compared to THE God... at least by people from Boston, who are already way too full of themselves as it is (JP awaits comments from a random Bostonian reader).

I love rooting for someone to take down people like that. I can't stand it when people think that they're "destined" to succeed. There's no such thing as destiny... only bad karma with the Morgantown traffic authority.

While I wasn't going to be all that upset if the Patriots won, I was still quietly rooting for the Giants. The Giants even have Eli Manning, who always seems to be treated like the pale imitation of Peyton Manning. He was like the Robin to Peyton's Batman. The Giants also had some mammoth guy named Justin Tuck on their defense, who finally gives my first name some manly props by sacking Tom Brady several times (as opposed to that squirrel-fucker Justin Timberlake, who does nothing but associate the name "Justin" with metrosexuality).

The fourth quarter was actually pretty exciting. All the way down the last second, I was convinced that somehow Tom Brady was going to pull off some crazy pass to win the game. I'm glad they didn't. A team that overconfident needs to be brought down a few pegs. I'll admit that they're a solid team that plays well, but no team needs to be described as "perfect." Fuck that shit.

And Bill Belichick looks like a douchebag. I don't know why, but something about that guy just SCREAMS "I also serve to clean women's crotches."

Congratulations Super Bowl XLII. I actually cared more about the game than the commercials in between. That's a first.... Though I did like the FedEx commercial with the giant pigeons. That was pretty choice.

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The New York Giants: I'd be happier for them if New York wasn't filled with egocentric sports fans too.

Where Have All the Updates Gone?

"I say, shopkeep! I demand blogging updates from The Undesirable Element.... Oh, and I'll take a pair of knickers, please."

It's been over a week since my last update, and I don't really have anything to blog about. My students have been frightfully boring. It's been too cold to go down to the rail trail. I haven't even seen any laughably bad movies. I do have two really weird classes that I'm taking, but they're so batshit crazy that it seems almost pointless to blog about them.

Well, you already know about the Sodomy/Pedophilia/Prostitution/Rape class. The latest session was actually boring somehow up until the final 20 minutes. At the end of class, the professor talked about how a hair fetish is a symbol of a fear of castration. I've read my fair share of Freud, and I don't really remember that little tidbit. Somehow, cutting off someone's hair is equated with cutting off a guy's junk. He said this, and then ran his hand slowly through his own hair. Does that qualify as touching one's self inappropriately?

All I know is that I hesitate to go to my barber now. On the plus side, one of the readings for next week is called: "Man of Pleasure's Kalender for the Year 1793 containing The Histories and Curious Anecdotes of the Most Celebrated Ladies now on the Town or in Keeping and also Many of their Keepers." It's essentially a bunch of stories about prostitutes and their pimps.

The other class is bizarre too. It's a class about drama and performance art. Last week we discussed the performance of a woman who invites people up on stage to examine her nude body with a speculum. Next week, we're going to be talking about a woman who has plastic surgery done on her in order to make some sort of artistic statement about Western standards of beauty. Check this one out.

I'm glad my parents don't pay for my tuition anymore. I have no way of explaining any of this as legitimate.

(I had no intention of this being a legitimate blog post. I was just going to stall for time by explaining that I didn't have anything to write about, but then I just disproved my own point. Just goes to show that two classes about sex and nudity can keep my attention for awhile.)

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Sodomy Books and Artistic Cavity Searches: You can learn it, but you can't un-learn it.