First exposure to entrepreneurship: a revolutionary toilet seat
When I was a graduate student
at the University of Akron, I had a conversation with Amir Abtahi, a fellow grad student in many of my classes. He said he had a wonderful idea for a microprocessor-controlled toilet seat, and even though I thought the idea was a little silly, we WERE studying ways to use microprocessors, so... Anyway, besides an automatic flush, something we often see in public toilets these days, his seat would be equipped with a clean-water spray (hopefully warm -- he didn't say) to wash your ass, a blow dryer to dry it, and even an optional powder puff to soften your ass with talcum powder. Or something like that. The technology is all there, he said; it was just a matter of putting the whole thing together.
He may have been right. Besides the auto-flush, you see
they use LEDs to tell you at night whether the seat is up or down (we would never need that, because unlike most men I have been trained :-) :-) :-)). The water spray is available now
in the form of bidet seats. (
Those things also come with the air-dry.) There doesn't seem to be a powder applicator yet. But there will be.
The bottom line is that Abtahi, back around 1983, saw the future. My experience tells me that if you can see the future once, and you are still willing to keep your eyes open after that, you will see the future again. So he should have become an entrepreneur. Alas, I don't know where he is now. But I always use this anecdote to remind my students that something that sounds silly now might make your fortune later.
Why did I use Legos?
Once upon a time, a long time ago, I convinced my line management at
NASA Glenn Research Center to purchase $100 worth of Legos -- I mean, "LEGO bricks or toys" -- for visualization of various configurations of
Space Station Freedom, which was soon thereafter referred to by critics, amidst massive budget cuts and redesign efforts, as "Space Station Fred." Anyway, what's pictured is Valerie DuFore, then a student intern working with me, holding one of the LEGO Space Stations we'd made.
I left NASA in 1996, but the "LEGO bricks or toys" are still there. At least, I think they are. Who takes responsibility for stuff like that when there are reorganizations? And in retrospect, there are problems with physical visualization of a large space structure made with what's really a crude block-based toy. Crude in this context, anyway -- no offense meant to young kids out there. If visualization is what you need, then you need to create a model that both looks and moves (or can be positioned) something like the real article. Solar arrays, for instance, are not really mounted on wheels free to turn; they're mounted on gimbals that must BE turned. And solar arrays are also flexible, yadda yadda yadda.
But I think what makes me regret that $100 expenditure the most is the little bit of polite complaining the LEGO people do about the way the rest of us "misuse" their brand (pictured). Doesn't it make you feel sorry you bought their stuff to have them lecture you on what you should CALL their stuff? That's how I feel when I read this.
Labels: engineering
Wanna go to Trump U?
I got an e-mail from
Trump University, which is evidently recruiting. So, the Donald, what will you teach me? How to fire people on TV?
Sing in overalls?
I looked at the Web site. You know what? It's neat and clean. Trump himself treats small business owners, at least publicly, with deference and respect. His blog is very interesting and people are responding to it. Here's an example:
I understand that outsourcing means that employees lose jobs. Because work is often outsourced to other countries, it means Americans lose jobs. In other cases, nonunion employees get the work. Losing jobs is never a good thing, but we have to look at the bigger picture.
Last year, Nobel Prize-winning economist Dr. Lawrence R. Klein, the founder of Wharton Econometric Forecasting Associates, co-authored a study that showed how global outsourcing actually creates more jobs and increases wages, at least for IT workers. The study found that outsourcing helped companies be more competitive and more productive. That means they make more money, which means they funnel more into the economy, thereby, creating more jobs.
Never mind the holes in the argument, even the principal fallacy that companies making more money automatically funnel that money into the economy, instead of, say,
CEO salaries. Trump deserves credit for hanging the issue out there, for not treating his rant on it as gospel, and for hosting some of the many payback opinions he generates.
My guess is that if his "university" works the same way as its Web site, it may be a useful tool for entrepreneurs. Let's keep our eyes on it.
Labels: diversions
Where the buck stops
Persuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admired Elizabeth, this was not the best method of recommending herself; but angry people are not always wise; and in seeing him at last look somewhat nettled, she had all the success she expected.
This is from
Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice, a book I have read maybe ten times. I'm not pointing out this passage because I need to read the book again, though I suppose that's possible. I have on occasion been very angry the last several months. The reasons are not relevant, because if I am angry it's not your problem, dear reader.
Being angry wouldn't even be MY problem if I could somehow manage to be wise at the same time just a bit more often. No such luck. This summer I've managed to hurt several people with my anger. Most of the time it's been personal, which is probably a deeper hurt; but once it was professional, which is plenty deep enough and more appropriate to this Web log.
I was working on a project with someone. I got irritated with her. My anger caused me to see little problems on the project as big ones; I also saw her gifts and talents as irrelevant. I went to the boss and blew the whistle. Much later I learned that she was reprimanded, and that this will stay on her permanent record. Yet my anger had melted away within a day or two. She never even knew I was angry at her. All she saw was the results. Crap, she lived with that all summer, and I didn't even know the pain I'd caused. Professional pain: you can't receive candy or flowers or get taken to a movie or a ball game or have anyone say anything nice to you and get over it. It has lasting effects. "Someone with power over me looks at me differently now, because of what you said," I finally got her to tell me. Even then it didn't sink in, not for several hours. But it's sunk in now.
I told her I wanted to fix it. She told me she wanted to vent. I told her her venting might not make her feel better. She told me I might not be capable of "fixing it," and might even make matters worse if I try. But that's the kind of person I am, I guess. Having seen that I have done something wrong, my first instinct is to correct it. And NOW, having seen the depth of my wrongdoing, I see that, like Elizabeth Bennet (pictured, played by
Keira Knightley in
the 2005 movie version), "till this moment, I never knew myself." I could say I feel like crap, and I'd be right, but it's nothing compared to the pain I have caused. (And imagine, if it's this bad when you hurt a colleague, how bad it must be when you hurt someone close to you! I know this betrayal as well!)
Don't you feel sorry for me. I'm writing this primarily to remind myself that all this has occurred. I'm going to try to fix things, without any real hope of winning my colleague's respect back, because it's the right thing to do. Doing the right thing, even when it's nearly hopeless, is still mostly better than three dead lemmings and a sharp stick in the eye. And I'm going to let her vent. But mostly I'm going to learn, finally, to count to ten. You'd think an engineer would know how to do that, wouldn't you?
I hate seeing the truth about myself. I hate knowing what I'm capable of. But I gotta know or I can't be healed. We all gotta know this about ourselves. So entrepreneurs, I tell you that
Pride & Prejudice oughta be required reading for you too.
Labels: rhetoric
SOME things you don't WANT to highlight on your resume!
When
The Island was released this past summer, it was accompanied by the following tagline:
From the Director of Pearl Harbor and Armageddon
...which is Michael Bay (pictured, as indicated by
Mr. Cranky, counting to five). Mr. Cranky describes
The Island in the following manner:
Writing about an improved Michael Bay film is kind of like writing about an improved Holocaust.
But I think what really causes us to emote here are the facts that (a) Michael Bay is being advertised as the force behind
The Island, and (b) they're doing it by referring to a couple of Bay's previous borderline turds. (I know --
I myself rate Armageddon as average, but my son is gently and firmly convincing me to lower my own rating.)
The lesson is simple: when you are putting out a
resume, you must consider your
audience first, and decide what among your accomplishments will be welcome reading in the audience's eyes. Then ditch the rest with extreme prejudice.
Labels: character
The Revenge of Ockham's Razor!
Entities must not be multiplied needlessly.
That's
the Razor of William of Ockham (or Occam, as you please), and I've always given it the following interpretation: "the simplest solution that meets requirements is the best solution."
The Archimedes water screw (pictured) is an example of Ockham's Razor in action. It's essentially unchanged in design since it was developed sometime before 200 BC. And it's in use in many parts of the world:
- in Egypt and other parts of the Middle East it's still lifting water, as was its original intention
- The US Department of the Interior is using it as a "fish-friendly pump," or at least testing it that way
- it's used at very small size in heart surgery
- and it moves lighter particulate substances like grains.
A simple solution that's not really been improved upon in a couple thousand years.
Labels: rhetoric
Don't get a doctorate! (part two)
When I tried to publish my doctoral thesis, it was rejected by the
AIAA Journal of Guidance, Control, and Navigation. That happens, and tenured professors have told me that sometimes you can re-submit articles to such journals for reconsideration after some tweaking. But in my case, I couldn't help but notice that one of the learned scholars who reviewed my thesis wrote a typical reason for HIS rejection: that I'd used the term
"backpropagation" when the CORRECT term is "backpropagation of error." What the scholar said was true, but it was candy-ass. The fact is that researchers of neural nets do not say "backpropagation of error," but instead "backprop." I knew at that moment -- or at least thought I knew -- that I did not want to become a college professor. To do so would turn me into a candy-ass. I mean, what the hell ELSE is backpropagated anywhere in nature or science BESIDES error...?
And with respect to the many college professors I know who are conscientious, studious servants of the public good, some of the college professors I know are candy-asses, and even at this very moment are splitting hairs not much different than how to say backprop. Their peer review exercises are not much different from one of my favorite articles to ever appear in the Onion,
"Fifth-Grade Science Paper Doesn't Stand Up to Peer Review." (pictured) Someone once looked at a paper of mine and said, "He's like, 'Dur, I'm Ron. I only have to say backprop.'"
Labels: education
Don't get a doctorate!
I should have written on this point long ago. But now I feel prompted because I've finally had a chance to look at the now-slumbering
Invisible Adjunct blog. The fact is that I have had a doctorate myself since 1994 and rarely had the chance to use it. It's like I have it to show evidence that I'm a smart guy. Or a smartass, maybe.
:-)What's wrong with having a doctorate? For starters, if you want to teach with it, there are very few full-time college jobs available. You pretty much have to wait for someone to DIE before there is an opening, because of the tenure system. You may think I'm exaggerating, but I have seen this. I'm not against tenure: it's the only way to preserve academic freedom. But it is used nowadays to get certain people jobs-for-life, and to prevent others from having a chance. I myself teach part-time at
the College that hosts this blog, and I would be all but invisible there if
my wife did not have tenure. Like the Invisible Adjunct. Full-time faculty walk past us, sometimes not seeing us. Because the students are "customers," they also are more vital to the campus community than we are. The non-academic staff are the ones who make the rules, also without considering our situation. Don't get me wrong: I love teaching, and I like TCNJ a lot. But the point is, I didn't need to get a doctorate to be paid less than I'm worth, to share an office with six or seven people, to teach required freshman classes and become forgotten afterwards.
In industry you usually don't need a doctorate, either. I developed a
neural network from scratch for my doctoral thesis; nobody uses that research because
the project I did it for was shut down a few months after I graduated. Don't get the idea that project managers seek people with advanced degrees -- they don't. They seek people who will fit in to project teams and keep things moving as they are. You don't need a doctorate for that; in fact, it hurts you. Somebody with a bachelor's degree can "play for the team," and that's why headhunters and human resources people will dismiss you without a second thought if you have a doctorate. It's not simply that they think you cost too much; it's that they can get someone to do the same thing for fresh-out prices. (They also know that if they are patient, they will find exactly the person they want for exactly the price they want to pay, but that is another story.)
I've got a teaching certificate now; I've applied for another one and will soon apply for a third. There isn't a school system in New Jersey that cares whether I have an advanced degree; all they care about is whether I have a certificate. That's it. And I certainly do not need a doctorate to get certified.
The only environment in which I've found my doctorate has any value at all is that of the entrepreneur. With
GreyPilgrim, Inc., my advanced degree was valued because it added intellectual credibility to what was otherwise a very small project team. But no entrepreneur hosts a research environment: it's about getting the job done and getting the products to market. For the person with the advanced degree, it's about wearing a bunch of hats, too. Your advanced study has trained you to wear many different hats, whether you know it or not; but you have to free yourself from the illusion that a small company will allow you to advance your scholarship. You can have fun; you can learn a LOT; you can take projects from cradle to grave; but you cannot advance a field of study. Your academic life as you knew it is over.
The short answer: if you are considering getting a doctorate, don't. If it's too late, and you are already in the pipeline, then decide: are you going to be a poor part-time academic, or a poor gambler on a start-up? I know which way I'd go. How about you?
Labels: education
Astonishing account from Hurricane Katrina aftermath eyewitnesses!
I'm going to condense this long account, attributed to Larry Bradshaw and Lorrie Beth Slonsky, a couple of paramedics who were on the scene. The entire account is quite chilling and Big Brother-ish. But the parts I'm including are confined to effects on businesses, as I see it -- consistent with the theme of this blog.
Two days after Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, the Walgreens store at the corner of Royal and Iberville streets remained locked. The dairy display case was clearly visible through the widows. It was [by this time] 48 hours without electricity, running water, plumbing. The milk, yogurt, and cheeses were beginning to spoil in the 90-degree heat. The owners and managers had locked up the food, water, Pampers, and prescriptions and fled the city. Outside... residents and tourists grew increasingly thirsty and hungry.
The much-promised federal, state and local aid never materialized and the windows at Walgreens gave way to the looters. There was an alternative. The cops could have broken one small window and distributed the nuts, fruit juices, and bottle water in an organized and systematic manner. But they did not. Instead they spent hours playing cat and mouse, temporarily chasing away the looters.
This bothers me: Walgreens management could not possibly have supported this strategy by police -- they were going to lose all their perishable goods anyway. There was clearly a business case for giving away the goods before the goods could spoil. If the police either had (a) solid leadership or (b) their own wits about them, they would have realized the same thing.
We were finally airlifted out of New Orleans two days ago and arrived home [Saturday]. We have yet to see any of the TV coverage or look at a newspaper. We are willing to guess that there were no video images or front-page pictures of European or affluent white tourists looting the Walgreens in the French Quarter.
Again, this is bothersome. You can't look at white people walking through flood waters and assume they're affluent. Especially when they've been photographed carrying loaves of bread that they scored from a broken store -- though admittedly, I've only seen one such photograph.
We also suspect the media will have been inundated with "hero" images of the National Guard, the troops and the police struggling to help the "victims" of the Hurricane. What you will not see, but what we witnessed, were the real heroes and sheroes of the hurricane relief effort: the working class of New Orleans. The maintenance workers who used a fork lift to carry the sick and disabled. The engineers, who rigged, nurtured and kept the generators running. The electricians who improvised thick extension cords stretching over blocks to share the little electricity we had in order to free cars stuck on rooftop parking lots. Nurses who took over for mechanical ventilators and spent many hours on end manually forcing air into the lungs of unconscious patients to keep them alive. Doormen who rescued folks stuck in elevators. Refinery workers who broke into boat yards, "stealing" boats to rescue their neighbors clinging to their roofs in flood waters. Mechanics who helped hot-wire any car that could be found to ferry people out of the city. And the food service workers who scoured the commercial kitchens improvising communal meals for hundreds of those stranded. Most of these workers had lost their homes, and had not heard from members of their families, yet they stayed and provided the only infrastructure for the 20% of New Orleans that was not under water.
I say I lean left because there are things the Government must do that we cannot do for ourselves. Unfortunately, what's described above falls on a good lefty's list. It is really nice to see engineers named among the real heroes, though, and refreshing to hear that
somebody took positive action when local, state, and national government faltered.
We decided we had to save ourselves. So we pooled our money and came up with $25,000 to have ten buses come and take us out of the city. Those who did not have the requisite $45.00 for a ticket were subsidized by those who did have extra money. We waited for 48 hours for the buses, spending the last 12 hours standing outside, sharing the limited water, food, and clothes we had. We created a priority boarding area for the sick, elderly and new born babies. We waited late into the night for the "imminent" arrival of the buses. The buses never arrived. We later learned that the minute they arrived at the City limits, they were commandeered by the military.
By day 4 our hotels had run out of fuel and water. Sanitation was dangerously abysmal. As the desperation and despair increased, street crime as well as water levels began to rise. The hotels turned us out and locked their doors, telling us that the "officials" told us to report to the Convention Center to wait for more buses. As we entered the center of the city, we finally encountered the National Guard. The Guards told us we would not be allowed into the Superdome as the City's primary shelter had descended into a humanitarian and health hellhole. The guards further told us that the City's only other shelter, the Convention Center, was also descending into chaos and squalor and that the police were not allowing anyone else in. Quite naturally, we asked, "If we can't go to the only 2 shelters in the city, what was our alternative?" The guards told us that that was our problem, and no they did not have extra water to give to us. This would be the start of our numerous encounters with callous and hostile "law enforcement."
We walked to the police command center at Harrah's on Canal Street and were told the same thing, that we were on our own, and no they did not have water to give us. We now numbered several hundred. We held a mass meeting to decide a course of action. We agreed to camp outside the police command post. We would be plainly visible to the media and would constitute a highly visible embarrassment to the City officials. The police told us that we could not stay. Regardless, we began to settle in and set up camp. In short order, the police commander came across the street to address our group. He told us he had a solution: we should walk to the Pontchartrain Expressway and cross the greater New Orleans Bridge where the police had buses lined up to take us out of the City. The crowd cheered and began to move. We called everyone back and explained to the commander that there had been lots of misinformation and wrong information and was he sure that there were buses waiting for us. The commander turned to the crowd and stated emphatically, "I swear to you that the buses are there."
We organized ourselves and the 200 of us set off for the bridge with great excitement and hope. As we marched past the Convention Center, many locals saw our determined and optimistic group and asked where we were headed. We told them about the great news. Families immediately grabbed their few belongings and quickly our numbers doubled and then doubled again. Babies in strollers now joined us, people using crutches, elderly clasping walkers and others people in wheelchairs. We marched the 2-3 miles to the freeway and up the steep incline to the Bridge. It now began to pour down rain, but it did not dampen our enthusiasm.
As we approached the bridge, armed Gretna sheriffs formed a line across the foot of the bridge. Before we were close enough to speak, they began firing their weapons over our heads. This sent the crowd fleeing in various directions. As the crowd scattered and dissipated, a few of us inched forward and managed to engage some of the sheriffs in conversation. We told them of our conversation with the police commander and of the commander's assurances. The sheriffs informed us there were no buses waiting. The commander had lied to us to get us to move.
We questioned why we couldn't cross the bridge anyway, especially as there was little traffic on the 6-lane highway. They responded that the West Bank was not going to become New Orleans and there would be no Superdomes in their City. These were code words for if you are poor and black, you are not crossing the Mississippi River and you were not getting out of New Orleans.
Our small group retreated back down Highway 90 to seek shelter from the rain under an overpass. We debated our options and in the end decided to build an encampment in the middle of the Ponchartrain Expressway on the center divide, between the O'Keefe and Tchoupitoulas exits. We reasoned we would be visible to everyone, we would have some security being on an elevated freeway and we could wait and watch for the arrival of the yet to be seen buses.
All day long, we saw other families, individuals and groups make the same trip up the incline in an attempt to cross the bridge, only to be turned away. Some chased away with gunfire, others simply told no, others to be verbally berated and humiliated. Thousands of New Orleaners were prevented and prohibited from self-evacuating the City on foot.
Meanwhile, the only two City shelters sank further into squalor and disrepair. The only way across the bridge was by vehicle. We saw workers stealing trucks, buses, moving vans, semi-trucks and any car that could be hotwired. All were packed with people trying to escape the misery New Orleans had become.
Our little encampment began to blossom. Someone stole a water delivery truck and brought it up to us. Let's hear it for looting! A mile or so down the freeway, an army truck lost a couple of pallets of C-rations on a tight turn. We ferried the food back to our camp in shopping carts. Now secure with the two necessities, food and water; cooperation, community, and creativity flowered. We organized a clean up and hung garbage bags from the rebar poles. We made beds from wood pallets and cardboard. We designated a storm drain as the bathroom and the kids built an elaborate enclosure for privacy out of plastic, broken umbrellas, and other scraps. We even organized a food recycling system where individuals could swap out parts of C-rations (applesauce for babies and candies for kids!).
This was a process we saw repeatedly in the aftermath of Katrina.
When individuals had to fight to find food or water, it meant looking out for yourself only. You had to do whatever it took to find water for your kids or food for your parents. When these basic needs were met, people began to look out for each other, working together and constructing a community.
If the relief organizations had saturated the City with food and water in the first 2 or 3 days, the desperation, the frustration and the ugliness would not have set in. Flush with the necessities, we offered food and water to passing families and individuals. Many decided to stay and join us. Our encampment grew to 80 or 90 people. From a woman with a battery powered radio we learned that the media was talking about us. Up in full view on the freeway, every relief and news organizations saw us on their way into the City. Officials were being asked what they were going to do about all those families living up on the freeway? The officials responded they were going to take care of us. Some of us got a sinking feeling. "Taking care of us" had an ominous tone to it.
Unfortunately, our sinking feeling (along with the sinking City) was correct. Just as dusk set in, a Gretna Sheriff showed up, jumped out of his patrol vehicle, aimed his gun at our faces, screaming, "Get off the fucking freeway". A helicopter arrived and used the wind from its blades to blow away our flimsy structures. As we retreated, the sheriff loaded up his truck with our food and water. Once again, at gunpoint, we were forced off the freeway. All the law enforcement agencies appeared threatened when we congregated or congealed into groups of 20 or more. In every congregation of "victims" they saw "mob" or "riot". We felt safety in numbers. Our "we must stay together" was impossible because the agencies would force us into small atomized groups.
In the pandemonium of having our camp raided and destroyed, we scattered once again. Reduced to a small group of 8 people, in the dark, we sought refuge in an abandoned school bus, under the freeway on Cilo Street. We were hiding from possible criminal elements but equally and definitely, we were hiding from the police and sheriffs with their martial law, curfew and shoot-to-kill policies.
Shouldn't we feel
safer with the police around? Aren't they there "to protect and to serve?" Aren't they
trained to "deal with people's problems every day? (Those were the words a local policeman once used to describe himself to me.) And isn't that the role New York cops played on 9/11? So what the bloody h*ll is going on here?
The next days, our group of 8 walked most of the day, made contact with New Orleans Fire Department and were eventually airlifted out by an urban search and rescue team. We were dropped off near the airport and managed to catch a ride with the National Guard. The two young guardsmen apologized for the limited response of the Louisiana guards. They explained that a large section of their unit was in Iraq and that meant they were shorthanded and were unable to complete all the tasks they were assigned.
Yes, we have heard this one before. And although I oppose the war, I am not willing to blame President Bush for not ending the war on the spot to bring the Guards back and clean up New Orleans. What I blame President Bush for is doing photo-ops in New Orleans and pretending things are going just fine.
We arrived at the airport on the day a massive airlift had begun. The airport had become another Superdome. We 8 were caught in a press of humanity as flights were delayed for several hours while George Bush landed briefly at the airport for a photo op. After being evacuated on a Coast Guard cargo plane, we arrived in San Antonio, Texas.
There the humiliation and dehumanization of the official relief effort continued. We were placed on buses and driven to a large field where we were forced to sit for hours and hours. Some of the buses did not have air-conditioners. In the dark, hundreds if us were forced to share two filthy overflowing porta-potties. Those who managed to make it out with any possessions (often a few belongings in tattered plastic bags) we were subjected to two different dog-sniffing searches.
I wonder what for? Is this a Homeland Security thing? Are they searching for evidence of Al-Qaeda activity here?
Most of us had not eaten all day because our C-rations had been confiscated at the airport because the rations set off the metal detectors. Yet, no food had been provided to the men, women, children, elderly, disabled as they sat for hours waiting to be "medically screened" to make sure we were not carrying any communicable diseases.
This official treatment was in sharp contrast to the warm, heart-felt reception given to us by the ordinary Texans. We saw one airline worker give her shoes to someone who was barefoot. Strangers on the street offered us money and toiletries with words of welcome. Throughout, the official relief effort was callous, inept, and racist. There was more suffering than need be. Lives were lost that did not need to be lost.
This account strikes me as evidence that entrepreneurs cannot depend on the government to protect their persons, much less their personal or business assets, in the event of a disaster. I believe that even 9/11 taught us that small businesses need disaster plans as much as large ones do. Assuming we can afford the money or time it takes to put such plans together.
But having made that point for the sake of blog consistency, let me say that I can hardly wait for the book to come out that carries this account. It's not gonna be just a best-seller; it'll be more like legendary. I may never look at law enforcement without skepticism again, after reading this.
Labels: character
When I was a graduate student at the University of Akron, I had a conversation with Amir Abtahi, a fellow grad student in many of my classes. He said he had a wonderful idea for a microprocessor-controlled toilet seat, and even though I thought the idea was a little silly, we WERE studying ways to use microprocessors, so... Anyway, besides an automatic flush, something we often see in public toilets these days, his seat would be equipped with a clean-water spray (hopefully warm -- he didn't say) to wash your ass, a blow dryer to dry it, and even an optional powder puff to soften your ass with talcum powder. Or something like that. The technology is all there, he said; it was just a matter of putting the whole thing together. 
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