Dispatches from Disney - Wednesday and Friday

On Thanksgiving, after we sat through one of the shortest timeshare presentations on record, after mofongo and pernil at a local Puerto Rican spot, and after I had spent about an hour or so working on my first post-Disney recap, we headed out for dinner. And by the time we finished with that, took the Kid to dance off her Thanksgiving burger at Disney Springs, and then returned to the resort, I was too tired to finish writing all of my assorted gripes about our first venture to see the Mouse.

(So I will give you an out right now. If you are looking to read a heart-warming account of our wonderful and magical trip to Disney World with three generations of happy, grateful people, you can go back to watching whatever sticky sweet powdered sugar-covered holiday movie currently airing on the Hallmark channel with Candace Cameron Bure. I've got none of that for you here.)

I have posted the pics to the Busy Black Woman Facebook and Instagram pages in case you are interested. As is always the case with what gets shared on social media, those are the good pictures of us having a good time. Here, because I see no need to offer any pretensions, is the postmortem of our #BusyBlkFamTrip:

1. Tiring. It was the equivalent of a military exercise that required about 20 pounds of gear and rations for half a day at the amusement park. So by the time we made it to our destination, watched one parade, and then stood in line for one attraction, it was time to feed and maneuver the troops to another park. And by the time we arrived just on time to see the closing fireworks, I was so very cranky and salty and disappointed by all of that effort. Only to wash, rinse, and repeat all of that for a second excursion on Friday minus my parents (we brought them back to another park later that evening). I am still sore and exhausted.

2. Expensive. So I knew this from the outset, but when I tell you that it is easily an entire month of salary just to get into the park, I AM NOT EXAGGERATING. The happiest place on earth is also the most costly entertainment racket on the planet. There is no cheap way to do Disney, which means that you are going to pay one way or the other. Our punishment was that early morning timeshare presentation, which saved us $150 (even though they authorized nearly $600 extra on my credit card to ensure that we would show up). Yeah.

3. Time-consuming. Disney is most proficient at creating the illusion that they are efficient. This same illusion is also effective at building anticipation for rides and attractions that last two minutes, at most. We stood in line for 45 minutes to ride the Pirates of the Caribbean, and during that wait, I attempted to use our Fast Passes to schedule other attractions, which only worked time-wise for us once. By the time we made our way from Adventureland to Fantasyland to ride in the Tea Cups for 90 seconds, we thought that maybe we would have time to ride something else before making our way to the castle for the parade. Wrong. EVERY attraction had a 65 minute wait or the Fast Pass options were unavailable. Even the Dumbo ride. And the parade, which was scheduled to start at 2pm, began at 2:20. So by the time we left the park, caught the monorail, found the car, drove back to the hotel, ate mofongo leftovers for lunch, gathered my parents, returned to visit a different park, found a parking space, and made our way to the entrance, it was dark outside. And everybody stops pretending to be happy once the sun goes down.

4. Expensive. Yes, I know I addressed that previously, but let's revisit that topic for a moment. Because these folks really know how to make people want a lot of unnecessary isht like this and this. And these headbands that practically everybody was wearing. All of the cheaper/generic trinkets like tee shirts, postcards, and keychains were sold elsewhere in stores off-property like Walmart and at these tourist trap superstores that function like outlets where you could buy authentic outdated merchandise at half-price. Or, you could just buy whatever you want from your local Disney store at your local mall and save a month's salary.

5. Inadequate. Which is why going to Disney is a lot like eating potato chips. You can't go just once. You will never see everything in one trip, even if you get the park hopper passes and spread your visits out over several days. We made it to three of the four parks, but didn't get to see much at Epcot or the Animal Kingdom. We rode three rides at the Magic Kingdom in two visits. Obviously, we could call it done and let the Kid get back to Disney on her own because there is no rule of parenting that requires multiple trips. I was in law school the first time I went to Disney World with the Hub when we were first dating. I went again ten years later while in Orlando for a sorority convention. In all honesty, I had a lot more fun going there without the pressure of having to create memories.

6. Artificial. Judge me for feeling manipulated by aspects of this experience. Judge me for complaining about the admission cost. Judge me for recognizing the elaborate con of building excitement by having each transition point to the park spaced to draw out the experience of 'arrival'. Judge me for not wanting to buy stuff after disembarking from a ride, especially when said ride lets me out inside of an appropriately-themed gift shop. Judge me for refusing to stand in line to take pictures with furries. Judge me for my frustration with the Kid for still not wanting to wear that damn Uma Halloween costume.

Go on and judge me, because God-willing I would do it all over again. Not because of the memories that I'm pretty sure my Kid won't form because she is three. Not because my parents were good sports and paid for half of this trip. Not because the Hub has the patience of Job. And not even because this Busy Black Woman now believes conquering Disney is her great white whale. I would do it all over again because life is short and imperfect, and sometimes even pretend magic can produce real joy.

Dispatches from Disney - Monday

I had the bright idea to take a family trip to Disney World for Thanksgiving this year. Then I got the bright idea to blog about it...because how else can I scream at the top of my lungs and expect that someone will actually hear me?

Exactly.

I promise not to provide too many gory details, but this hasn't unfolded as I had hoped. It has been a mix of the usual insanity and nonsense, with the unfulfilled promise of a cherry on top. I remember what I was thinking when I concocted this wonderful idea, but I can't even imagine how I expected for things not to be as ridiculous as they have been (and it is only Monday just after midnight). It is really hard to have high hopes and expectations dashed by the harshness of reality. Children catch colds unexpectedly. Parents who aren't all that mobile at home are even less so on vacation. Husbands that drive you insane in normal life just find new ways to be annoying away from home. A trip to Disney costs the equivalent of at least month of bills, and somehow it didn't occur to me that we would be spending all of this money a month before Christmas...

But in spite of everything that has gone wrong so far, there have been little fireflies of light swirling around me. My child got a taste of the Disney magic this evening, and it was so exciting and overwhelming for her that I'm not the least bit angry that she made me take her to the bathroom no less than four times in a half hour span of time. My Dad was super psyched that he had his favorite take out Chinese food dinner at a restaurant owned by an Iron Chef. My Mom, over whom I have fretted endlessly for three days, suddenly got very stubborn this evening...and while that frustrated the hell out of me in the moment, it reminds me that she is still with me (even when she is at her most difficult). And the weather here in Florida has been absolutely gorgeous.

I still win the Busy Black Woman Anal Retentive yes-I-plan-for-everything-because-no-one-else-ever-does Award for this trip because even when I do mess up, forget things, and get overwhelmed, I still manage to manage. Yes, that might mean that I will miss part of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on Thursday morning because we will be stuck in yet another useless timeshare presentation that definitely will not last for only 120 minutes. But we will get to see the Mouse with Grandma and Granddaddy because dammit, that was what I envisioned! My parents haven't been on a vacation since 2012, and they need to spend quality time with their grandchildren. For all of the various challenges, there will be some great memories captured (or some funny stories to share).


We're here.

Be the Best of Whatever You Are

Today could be a good day or a bad day or a great day as we await the midterm Election results. Like a lot of people, I have been anticipating this day since November 9, 2016 after I woke up at 2am to what I thought was my worst possible nightmare. So I wrote this declaration as a promise that I would dedicate myself to the effort of voter participation and engagement.

As I reread that piece, I recall the defiance and the despair I felt that day as I snuggled with my then-toddler daughter. How I had to comfort the Hub when he returned from his work in the fields as an election monitor, because he was so distraught about the world that had just been upended. How I became addicted to cable news again. How I then kept writing over the next few days and weeks: (1) a postmortem of missteps from my #busyblack perspective; (2) a pep talk to restore my sanity; (3) skepticism for the post-inaugural Women's March; (4) gratitude to the Obamas; and (5) a renewed sense of inspiration and optimism after attending the Women's March in New York City.

My goal after the Women's March was to do everything I could to help change the political tide that had knocked so many of us down on Election Day 2016. But, life...so let me start by listing a few of the things that I haven't done as of today, November 6, 2018. I did not get to work a shift on the Election Protection hotline because of scheduling. I won't be able to do any mobile election monitoring because my daughter has the day off from school for parent-teacher conferences. I did not get to travel to Georgia to stump for my Spelman Sister, Stacey Abrams because I didn't go to Homecoming (again). I haven't been able to attend that many political events on weekends or in the evenings because of varying commitments for parenting, caregiving, or otherwise.

I could look at all those things I haven't done and wonder if later this evening, I will be blaming my inability to do more as the reason why I'm drinking heavily and crying. In fact, I had intended to upload a very sad picture with a post to my Facebook page to that effect because I was feeling a little depressed yesterday (Monday) about my inability to make my life fit to meet certain objectives. I mean, I am the Busy Black Woman, dammit!

But as I sat at my computer to write about what I was unable to do, I remembered the title of a poem that I had memorized as a child (which is also the title of this piece). Here is a link to it, and as I recited/read it to myself, I realized that I had no reason to wallow in a malaise of unaccomplishment (and surprise, that really is a word). No, I didn't do several of the things I had hoped I would have a chance to do. Some of the projects I attempted did not gain enough traction or momentum. And yeah maybe I am feeling a little less than because I am comparing myself to others, but let me restate my title--I am the Busy Black Woman, dammit!

I didn't sell any Busy Black Women vote tees, but let's be honest, I am not a tee shirt vendor. My blog isn't set up with any e-commerce capabilities, and I don't know enough about promoting and marketing because I am a writer. And I have written a LOT over the past two years, so I feel very confident that I have stated my case about the need to participate in this election cycle. As for my inventory of unsold tee shirts, well, they will still be available. I will continue to promote my message, which I have been doing since this summer. And true to my word, I made a $50 contribution to National Voter Registration Day anyway.

Speaking of National Voter Registration Day, no I wasn't out in the streets as I had intended. Instead, I joined with members of my sorority to support their planned voter registration effort at a local high school where we were able to register four young people. I take great pride in that number because after 30 minutes of sitting idle waiting for students to come to us, I just began to solicit them. We also gave away several forms to students who expressed interest, so that is encouraging to me. By 2020, we will have a better plan.

I led the Voter Engagement Project at my church which included the panel I organized for our Social Justice Weekend, the articles I wrote for our Social Justice Defender newsletter, the presentations I gave to a various groups of members, and the reflection I quasi-bungled back in January (because I overthought my remarks in light of having to follow the Rev. Dr. William J. Barber II). I wish I could have been more successful at implementing some of the outreach plans I had outlined at the beginning of this programming year, such as the adopt-a-precinct project; however, I am satisfied that I can take a few months off knowing that I did all of that on my own.

I really wanted to help my Spelman Sister out by taking to those Georgia streets, but I've been donating to her campaign every month since earlier this year. I also donated to other campaigns and causes, so I feel pretty good that I was able to support the work of other who are on the ground doing the grassroots work.

Although I can't work a physical Election Protection shift this year, I can send a few text messages to voters today. I can continue to tweet messages about the Hotline and inform people how to contact them if they encounter problems at the polls. No, I won't be able to attend any campaign events this evening with my daughter in tow, but we can watch the election returns at home together.

I had to be reminded what my best is supposed to be. My best is to show up when I can. My best is sometimes a solo project that impacts a small number of people. My best isn't to be an eloquent preacher; it is to provide an honest reflection or to write an article. My best isn't to create a viral social media campaign or to sell a lot of tee shirts--making the effort and trying might be enough. My best may never result in seeing my name as a candidate on a ballot (because I have a big mouth and a past), but I can always chip in a few dollars. Finally, my best is to VOTE and to encourage others to do the same.

Red Beans and Rice Monday: Black State of the Union

I was in the house all day Saturday while a lot of my friends were out celebrating that great HBCU revival known as Homecoming. So I was a little salty. And since I was not at Homecoming (and could not spend the entire day liking pictures of my friends enjoying Homecoming), I decided it was my civic duty to devote a block of time to sorting laundry and watching Candace Owens deliver her  Black State of the Union address.

What is that and who is she? Glad you asked.

To offer some context, I have written about Ms. Owens previously back when she issued a challenge to debate Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, which I found to be an insulting publicity stunt orchestrated to give Owens some political street cred. She is one of several young GOP pundits who came of age in the Obama era. I am unsure of her exact political evolution, except that when it happened she released a YouTube video that explained her 'coming out' to her parents. And somehow, she has a job as the communications director for Turning Point USA, which is a glorified post-graduate political fellowship of sorts for the College Republican crowd. Thus, it was no surprise to see her cheek to cheek in a video with the First Named Son of the POTUS.

Nor was it at all shocking that she believed she could produce a watershed moment for Black America at 4:00pm on a Saturday afternoon during the weekend of several major HBCU Homecomings. Not at all delusional.

To her supporters who might be reading this, you can dismiss my critiques as shade, or you can ask the same questions I have posed here. Let's begin with why her big speech did not begin on time. And then why it was not streaming on Twitter as she had advertised. And then why she had to tweet out a link to her Periscope channel with footage that looked like my Kid was streaming it live by accident. And why the sound quality was also bad, so I had to use my imagination to fill in all the gaps that were audibly indecipherable. And why for at least ten minutes, she ceded the floor to some guy whom she felt would augment whatever case she intended to make, but again because of the poor sound and video quality, it looked a lot like Kanye West snatching the microphone from Taylor Swift...

Here is the gist: she is a young black conservative who is offering the same rhetoric that I have heard for years. In fact, I attended one of those Young Republican dinners as a college student, so I can assure you that she gave the same general speech beginning with the plantation imagery to the denouncement of Planned Parenthood to the welfare state being the reason why so many black children are born to single mothers. All of that is the fault of black voter loyalty to one political party.

I could go into the contrasting arguments that provide the foundation of the conservative appeal to black voters and while none of that has any impact on my political leanings, I recognize that there are some people who find that end of the ideological spectrum compelling. And that's cool. I have been friends with black conservatives and thought they were decent people. But we disagreed and in this current political climate, I struggle to understand their alignment with a man for whom values are currency, not policy. So I regard Candace Owens and her conference room full of followers with the same skepticism that people of a certain age look upon optional technology. Google glasses sound like a interesting concept, but no one needs them. I'm sure that there are black people who need a reason to justify their decision to join the GOP, but the rest of us really don't care.

I am clear that Owens and Company actually believe in the conservative ideology of free markets and personal responsibility--what the GOP used to espouse. However, in my experience, what these folks want is a way to stand out in a crowded field where simply being different is enough to advance. These same people decry affirmative action as reverse racism against their white friends without recognizing that they contribute to that same alleged preference for black, brown and/or female voices to serve as mouthpieces for white mediocrity.

And quite honestly, I was offended that Owens had to stage her announcement without the bells and whistles that should have accompanied such an important cause. She was hosting this event, so why couldn't she even get a FOX News production intern to ensure that her big speech got the attention she clearly felt it deserved? Let me point out that the President's address to the summit got C-Span coverage, while she got to upload a fuzzy cell phone video onto Periscope (I did see some better quality footage on Breitbart, but I'm not linking to that). Thus, consistent with what I have observed over the years, the GOP isn't really interested in cultivating black and brown voters except on the margins.

It is legitimate to point out that for all of its lip service to diversity, the Democratic Party has a lot of baggage with respect to supporting black and brown candidates who vie for public office without coming up through the traditional party structure. It is an ideological difference of opinion that government safety net programs have enabled poverty and contributed to the breakdown of the traditional nuclear family. The founder of Planned Parenthood might have been a racist eugenicist. And once upon a time, because of the GOP's past support for civil rights, black voters like my grandparents could be swayed to vote for Republican candidates.

But you won't win folks over to your side if your opening salvo is the suggestion that people are mentally enslaved or somehow incapable of the critical thinking ability to make pragmatic political choices. Or if you ignore the ideological and demographic shifts that made one party more attractive to specific groups of voters. Furthermore, if your ideas are so much better, then they would prevail without having to resort to tactics that suppress the vote or attempt to undermine the process. Because if the issue really is about the freedom to choose, then it should be your business to ensure that everyone has that right.

Finally, just take this advice with whatever you choose (grain of salt/shot of bourbon), but black people are wary of folks who have been designated as black leaders by outsiders. We've got to believe in you on our terms, so unless you and Kanye can do better than market a new clothing line with a unoriginal hashtag and a familiar corporate logo, you aren't leading a movement, just another parade.

We Bleed Too

I started to write a very different post the other day, but I only wrote half of a sentence and then life happened, so I had another idea, but I didn't get to write anything on that topic at all, so I am here with a third idea that will attempt to connect all of my earlier thoughts along this theme: Black women are not superhuman.

This past Saturday was a classic Busy Black Saturday in the mold of what I used to post on the Facebook page--a recitation of my activities with a hint of look at me, I am able to juggle multiple tasks and attend several events in a single day bombast. My initial idea was to write about the evolution of this blog from that I-can-do-it-all-in-a-day to my current Dear-Lord-are-you-for-real situation. I took pictures. It was going to be a funny take on the Black Girl magic I have lost since having a child, which I have traded for sleep, stillness, and sanity.

My second idea was to write about how I often feel like a failure as a black mother. Since her third birthday, my daughter has gone through phases when she has explosive tantrums. There was the day when she insisted that we needed to go to my parents' house and refused to leave the car. Or the time when she made the same demand, and after dragging her into the house, I forgot to close the car door. Or the time when I left her backpack on top of the car after the same replay, and one of my neighbors knocked on the door. I have pictures from those wonderful explosions of emotions too, but posting them might lead to her hating me in ten years, and then maybe for the rest of our lives.

My third idea: I learned of the tragic death of a childhood friend. I was initially told that she died in a car accident. That was not the case...she was murdered. I do not know enough details, so all I have is my suspicion that her very tragic death might have been the culmination of a horrible situation.

How do these three distinct ideas connect? For me, it is the common misconception that black women are strong, magical, and powerful. Black women can do anything. And too many of us believe that nonsense to our detriment. Black women may save the world but we cannot save ourselves.

And I mean it. I could not sustain the pretentious facade that I could manage everything when it became obvious that was not the case. I am not that black mother who can avert a meltdown with an icy stare at my child. Not every black woman has the power to walk away from a dangerous situation.
We have vulnerabilities. We have blind spots. We have weaknesses. We bleed.

Do you understand that in order to save the world, Jesus had to die? It wasn't enough for Him to be born and to perform miracles and to speak truth to power. HE HAD TO DIE. Is that what we expect from black women?

Black women suffer and die because the world presumes that we are impervious to pain. Did you know that modern gynecology was developed by using black women as test subjects? Did you know that black mothers have high maternal mortality rates? Did you know that black women develop deadlier forms of breast cancer? Did you know that black women bear the brunt of preventable infectious diseases, such as HIV? Yes, we are educated. Yes, we are strong when the situation demands. Yes, we can endure all kinds of pain and suffering. Yes, we are more loyal to the notion of global sisterhood than some of our white sisters. Yes, we voted to keep a pedophile out of the Senate.

But dammit, I don't want to die and I don't want my friends to die. I want us to live.

And I want us to affirm each other in ways that don't stigmatize women who can't quite live up to the I'm every woman hype. That song is a great anthem, empowering and inspiring, but it also represents the paradox that being everything to everybody can have disastrous consequences (because Whitney is dead y'all). And this notion that in order to be regarded as worthy, we have to sacrifice our health and safety is ludicrous. Because if we only offer the world an illusion instead of reality it can be fatal.

So I am indeed a proud Busy Black Woman who is working on 'the look' that is supposed to keep my child in line. And I am mourning the loss of my childhood friend, praying for her family, and hoping for justice. Allow us the same vulnerability and imperfection that everyone else takes for granted. Let us be human.

Stolen Thunder

It must suck to be Princess Eugenie of York right now because the weekend of her big wedding, the top news stories (at least on this side of the pond) have been about EVERYBODY but her. So I plan to remedy that by allowing her to take the lead in this piece. She was an absolutely lovely bride. Best wishes to her for a wonderful life with her groom, Jack Brooksbank.

But, Meghan the American Princess is preggers and that pretty much means there is nothing another royal can do between now and next Spring (except die) that will ever be more important.

I had been waiting all day for someone to declare that the H&M breached protocol by sharing their big news with the family at the wedding. Of course there is no way this would have stayed a secret for long since folks have been all up in Meghan's uterus since June, but there had to be some other way to camouflage it better than a bulky overcoat that practically screamed "I've got something in here!" No matter though, because it is pretty clear that the other royals seem resigned to cede the spotlight to the Duke and Duchess of Sussex.

Meghan pulled a Rachel and totally stole Eugenie's thunder!

And until our fabulous ginger brown royal baby is born, no one else matters. Not Pippa Middleton's newborn kid. Not the kid royal cousin Zara Tindell had weeks after Harry and Meghan's nuptials. Not even Prince Louis, born weeks beforehand. We don't care about Brexit. We don't care about that hot air balloon of the American President as a crying baby. We don't care that his wife finally spoke up for herself, but had nothing to say.

I recall how a certain Sarah Ferguson stole the thunder away from the Princess of Wales some thirty years ago and that for a while, it went back and forth between the two women until Diana's tragic death. According to legend, it was Diana who brought Fergie into the royal fold, but then she got jealous over the press attention paid to the shiny new royal. The two became rivals and I'm guessing that royal rivalries are a lot like commoner family drama, except there are tiaras snatched (instead of wigs) and tell-all books to be sold. Or put another way, it is like having two versions of potato salad at the family barbecue sitting side by side, and you have to eat a serving of both or all hell will break loose.

In this case, Meghan is the shiny new royal who also happens to be American and also black, so our fascination with her should be understandable. These are dark times in America, so anywhere in the world where a black woman's pregnancy announcement is a big effing deal is a ray of hope. I've got friends who have publicly prayed for this child to have curly red hair and freckles. I haven't even checked in with my Dad who I'm guessing is excited as if this baby is his fourth grandchild (because he and Harry share a birthday).

But we are very happy for you Princess Eugenie as well because it is a good thing whenever young people get married. And even though Meghan and Harry are total cheeks for allowing their baby news to get more coverage than your wedding that only aired over here as a reality TV special on TLC, we know that in the royal order of things, you have the advantage of being an actual princess. And yes, while Meghan's kid will push you down a notch in the royal lineup to the throne, it isn't like any of your children will ever sit on the throne (except to play on it).

And here, I want to give you this as a wedding present, for you to use at some point in the future. I don't suggest using it against Meghan, but there are plenty of other lesser royals that you can outshine with the right timing.

Activate the Prayer Circle

I forgot that Kanye was scheduled to meet the Whizard of Orange yesterday. Actually, I didn't forget I just chose not to remember. I busied myself with other activities, but then happened to turn on the news and BAM, there it was--that scene from the Wizard of Oz when everyone is getting their wishes granted. But instead of giving them the things they really want, he lies to them and gives them a lot of useless crap. Except for Dorothy, to whom he makes the empty promise of getting her home to Kansas, only to get accidentally/on purpose whisked away in the balloon.

I'm guessing the Trumpet wished he had some kind of elaborate exit strategy planned for that nonsense. At least that is my initial impression upon seeing his face at the beginning of this clip.

I'm going in. I didn't want to watch it earlier, but I'll do it now so that I can report back.

(Here is some soothing elevator music to enjoy while you wait)

Whoa...

Well, my only joy at watching that unfold was seeing the Trumpet try to blink a message to his staff to shut that joint down, but they didn't. Congratulations Mr. President, this is a foretaste of the afterlife you've earned!

As for Brother West, we definitely need to intercede for him. Lord knows, Kim K ain't a praying woman...she a preying woman. Yeah, I said it in my church lady voice, so you already know how this is about to go down.

While the rest of the Saints gather, I will just set the scene for you. We're going to do this old school, so I pulled out my good white suit and a prayer scarf. I couldn't find my old pill box Deaconess hat with the tassel, so I'm going with the beret. I've got my church fan with the picture of the Obamas from the first Inauguration and I brought my Grandmother's green hymnal and her Daddy's Bible. The choir is still assembling so we've got Aretha Franklin and James Cleveland playing softly in the background. I gave my daughter the tambourine. And I brought the good snacks.

The call went out to all the good church folks, so we've got some Catholics with the holy oil, some Episcopalians have brought the readings, and a few Methodist bishops to preside over the proceedings. The Baptists have filled the pool and the COGIC ushers are manning their stations. The Full Gospel praise dancers are in place and the ecumenical choir has rehearsed the great hymns. If your denomination doesn't have a designated place on the program, it's all good because all are welcome to contribute and we're going to let the Spirit guide us. This is an old school altar call/prayer circle/mourner's bench/revival, and it might take all night, but we ready.

Now let's be clear, prayer is only the first battle in this fight to redeem Kanye's mind, body and soul. He's going to need therapy, medication, a 12-step program, attorneys, financial planners, bodyguards, and constant supervision for the rest of his life, but we've got to start somewhere. Right now that brother needs Jesus, Mary Mother of God, all the Saints, all the ancestors, Moses, Buddha, Mohammad, and every praying Grandmother that ever lived. Deliverance is serious business, and we're going to give it our best effort.

But Jim Brown, you're on your own.