Peckers n' Preservation

Okay, April already got the answer. It's not technically cheating, though, because she had to go through the trouble of looking it up, and still ended up learning something (ha ha, I made you do something geeky). But now I take issue with the whole penis-size thing. I thought it looked proportionate to his body size. I wonder if the person who critiqued the picture (I mean on the original website) was thinking about dwarfism, or something related. I don't know what dwarf's penis's look like, but I know there's "little people" who look proportionally just like regular people, only smaller. We also need to remember that penis size is not exact according to height and body weight. Big guys can have a twig & berries, while a little guy could have a tree limb and coconuts.
One more thing on the plastination topic & the body farm:

Plastination--one of the main goals von Hagen had for it was to establish a visual connection to death. This is so people could understand it better by seeing how the body worked and by using actual cadavers. He also wanted these cadavers to be viewed as subjects of art--to show how naturally beautiful the body is. Ask any Anatomy or Med student who is actually taking the program because they like to study that stuff. They'll find a pulchritude that's hard for others to understand. Hell, ask a mechanic, or someone who is mechanically enclined. They have to get in and work with the guts of a machine, figure out the source of its deficiency, and fix it up to work properly again. They have to make connections and possess a working knowledge of what each part does in order to put all the correct processes together and complete a chain of functions.

Body Farm-OK, anyone who knows me knows I obsess with death. I want to read about it, see it, understand it, and, when the time comes, experience it so that I may see firsthand what all the fuss is about. I've known real fear the few times I've ever thought my life might be in danger, and I've always tried to understand how & why I've interpreted it whatever way I did (wow, this whole paragraph is kind of a foreshadow to my being in Anthro). If anyone has seen some of the stuff I write, they'd notice that I obsess about sunrises and sunsets, because to me they are a perfect symol of the cycle of life, and how we mostly only notice the real "charm" or beauty of life when we witness its beginnings, or its endings. Only occasionally do we notice the middle of the day, then try to do everything we can before the sun goes down. Nice analogy, huh? I've always seen it that way, but I've never really wrote it down before.
Anyway, I'm also interested in how a body actually expires. I've read into many different concepts of afterlife, the existence of a soul, ghosts, even the validity of psychic powers (I believe people who see into the future are either complete fakes, or really good cause-and-effect connectors). I'm baffled that a body finds blood, water, and electricity so necessary in order to function (among the other things it needs).
Going to the Body Farm, for me, is important, because I wanted to see the people face to face, and I want to look at the variance of decay in them. I want to see why some processes occur, and I want ot know some of the more minute features of decay. I want to see all the different things that the human body goes through after death, and how even the features change but remain somewhat the same as they were in life.
The smell would get bad in parts, I imagine, but the human body only smells for so long after death. Once all of the gases are expelled and the wet stuff dried out, the worst smell you encounter is just kind of a greasy smell, which about matches the state of the body at the time.
If you went to the UND Med school building and looked at some of the stuff they have behind glass there, it can give you some perspective on some of this kind of stuff.

What's wrong with this drawing? 

I Am So Great...

Wow! my blog is popular! And educational! Okay, so nobody really cares about the little trivia I put up last post, so I'll just give the damned answer. Well, Karissa cared enough to cheat at least. Anthony Burgess wrote Clockwork Orange. He's a good choice for linguistic consultation because if you've ever read the book, you'd notice all the weird colloquialisms the teenagers spoke, having Germanic and Slavic roots and what not. Anyway, he apparently hated the job Kubrick did on the movie, and doesn't want to be associated with it anymore. I think he recently (within the last five years, I mean) republished the book to include the original ending, which is NOT what you see in the movie. It's an awesome book.
Anyway, I'll give you guys a more fun little guessing game to play. Take a good look at the picture up above. It's supposed to be a portrayal of Homo habilis. There's something that's extremely wrong with the picture, and if you can find it, you'll get the satisfaction of knowing you found it. I'll give you a hint...ha ha, I lied.

Plastination

Karissa mentioned about how we might go to Chicago in May for the Body Works exhibit, but didn't know how to explain it, so I thought I'd indulge everyone. Basically, this guy named Gunther von Hagen developed a process to preserve a human body by not only draining it, but dehydrating it using acetone, then injecting it with polymers and letting it harden. The process is theorized to be capable of lasting for thousands of years (I think, don't quote me on that one). Many of the bodies are whole, but there are also many that are simply parts. The whole ones he puts in various "living" poses, like walking, playing tennis or basketball, one even rides a fully plastinated horse.
Obviously, his exhibits ignite plenty of controversy. Many religious organizations consider it sacreligious, I think some human rights organizations as well. But his exhibit is more about learning to appreciate the natural beauty of the human body inside and out, and becoming more familiar with the concept of death in an effort to overcome one's fear of it.
This is the next best thing to my Graceland. The place I really want to see is the Body Farm out in Knoxville, Tennessee--a square plot of land fenced off like Fort Knox that houses a bunch of dead people in various stages of decay. Many are simply basking in the sun. However, I'm pretty sure that since I'm not a med student or going into forensics or biology, my chances of getting to see it are severely limited. That, and I'd be going pretty much alone.
If possible (in Chicago), I wanted to see if we could get a quick tour of th American Academy of Art--that's where Alex Ross studied, and I thought it'd be cool to see the kind of environment he was in. Could be incredibly boring, too, though--I mean, it's an art school. Any idiot can shove a crayon up his/her butt and crap out some kind of fecal masterpiece that someone will pay money for. Chances could be that I have to look at--dare I say--Performance Art! I'm referring to people like that guy who threw hundreds of pounding worth of deli ham onto a bed to show American consumerism and gluttony (or some such crap). To these people I attach the scientific name Homo asinus. Not too hard to figure out.
Anyway, I get to watch Blue Velvet next week for film class. I've seen it before, but it's kind of fucked up, so I like it. Plus, on March 8, Global Visions Film Series will be showing Quest For Fire in the Memorial Union Lecture Bowl. Anyone reading this should go! It's a great portrayal of man's fleeting possession of fire and it's got Ron Pearlman. Think of the movie Caveman with Ringo Starr, only serious and much more accurately portrayed. Anyone who doesn't know who Ron Pearlman is by now should open up another window and google him. This guy's an awesome actor who never gets the credit he should because he's not fucking Brad Pitt.
By the way, one of the people who helped develope the language used in Quest was Anthony Burgess. Anyone know what popular book he wrote about violent youth? I'll give you a hint: Stanley Kubrick made it into a movie which Burgess now wishes to have nothing to do with.
Alright, this is getting too long, I'm not writing anymore.

Amadon actually commented on my blog?

I was surprised and totally sobered reading Amadon's comment on my pinch harmonics post (I wasn't drunk, I meant sobered as in my attitude).
I think you admitted a little more than you thought. It's cool, though. It's good to hear you not being overly optimistic or deluded about where our friendship has been and is going. I don't mean that we'll never hang out again, but I kidded myself for the longest time that you and I were above and beyond other friends (does that sound a little gay?). At one point, I realized that apart from the issues that arose between you and me, you'll still always be that guy that I can jam with. I haven't ever met another person that I could just sit down and play guitar with without worrying that I didn't sound good enough.
I'm still confident that we'll all play together again. It probably won't serve any purpose other than a precursor to a party, but at least we'll have some fun again.
I probably wouldn't get so sentimental about a comment, but I read something deeper. Besides, last weekend I brought in my 400watt amp and cranked it up, and playing it nice and loud took me back. Plus, there was a short period one night where all my pinch harmonics were DEAD ON, and I sounded awesome. I feel a little nostalgic when my ears ring.
This past month Revolver (magazine about rock) came out with a "fallen heroes" theme, recalling some other musical legends (and, unfortunately, Kurt Cobain YET AGAIN), and it included Dime's final interview plus DVD of him playing some riffs. I've seen it about eight times now in several different gas stations and book stores, and I still can't bring myself to buy it. They should have brought Nathan Gale's corpse to the funeral so everyone there could take turns kicking him in the balls as they left.
Oh well, we rage on, don't we?

Homecoming

Guess who's coming home today? Karissa and Is are coming back finally, and I'm going nuts. I have to clean still and take a shower, so I'm gonna keep this fairly short. Karissa just called around 3:30 or so, and they're in Minneapolis, waiting to board the last plane, then they'll be rolling into Grand Forks around 6:30, where they'll find me waiting to take luggage and baby. Thank you again, April, for letting me take the night off for this. It feels like I haven't seen them in weeks!
I got to talk to Is on the phone a little last Monday. She was whining about something, and Karissa put the phone up to her ear, and she shut up when I started talking to her. I think she was wondering where the hell I was. She could hear me, but couldn't see me anywhere.

That Darn Hymen

Being an Athro major, it's pretty common to catch the tail end of an argument and end up researching the last statement said. Oftentimes, the subject matter seems to have nothing to do with Anthropology. Remember what I say here: Anthropology has a hand in EVERYTHING. That being said, I learned something interesting about the vagina.
I don't know why this question never came up before, but I caught the end of some show about virgins. I can't even remember what was said, but it had to do with the age-old virgin-tell: the hymen. Some dumbshit broke up with his girlfriend over the fact that her hymen was broken before their first time, and it got me thinking about how I view sex, and how little relevance I attach to virginity.
Maybe it's because I'm a guy. Sure, we'll go with that. But I was a virgin once, as was my first girlfriend. By the end of our relationship, we both were not. The thought of a girl having a little "purity barrier" never occurred to me up to that point, nor at anytime after. When I sat down and thought about its importance, I realized that by many cultural definitions, a girl could be de-virginized by a horse, a bike, a dildo, her gynecologist (just doing his job I mean), her own fingers, her own legs (gymnastics), or she could even have tissue flexible enough to "move aside."
In thinking about it today (god I must be bored), I was wondering what specific purpose it serves--I mean medically, not culturally. So I looked it up. Apparently, the hymen is the ninth wonder of the world, because NOBODY knows it medical/physiological purpose. Some think it may be to keep out dirt and outside bacteria from infecting it. But then, how do you explain how some women have an imperforate hymen, where the membrane is so thick and covers the entire opening that it won't let out menstrual blood? Kind of a biological double-standard, I'd say.
This also led me to thinking more about virginity, and how people try to define it. I've come to the conclusion that the concept of "virginity" is just as fluid as the concept of "evil"--it can variy drastically from one culture to the next. I guess that's kind of anticlimactic (no pun intended), but it's weird that I now attach even less importance to virginity than it previously had.
If anyone's got any ideas as to what the purpose of that little devil may be, feel free to postulate!

Closer look at her humoring her mom 

Isabella gets to touch grass for the first time 

My Dog's Been Bad, My Baby's on Grass, and Someone Might Have it Out for This Young Dad? (some strange blues)

Sorry about Cupid, April. He does that. That little guy's bite is worse than his bark.
April brought over some of her photos last night so I could pick some out to draw, and I actually got a few good ideas about some different things I can do--but no I'm not gonna tell, because where would be the fun in that? Besides, there's probably a guy reading my blog right now who is so obsessed with me that he wants to steal my ideas, kill me, and then assume my identity and become wildly successful with them. He'd be so good, you guys would never know the difference. I thought maybe Cary Elwes could play the part, but he got too old and gained a little weight, so I'm thinking Matt Damon (come on, he played the role once!) or James Hetfield. Alright, I'll quit with that now. Who'd stalk a guy that lives in a 1-bed shotgun shack & works two jobs?
Anyway, Karissa just called me around noon (I just woke up, I had to remember I even talked to her), and sent me some pictures over e-mail. So, there they are, up above. Mind you, this is the first time I've seen Is in almost 4 days. Sure, she hasn't really changed since the last time I saw her, but this is driving me nuts. I'm starting to feel like one of those divorced dads right now. Oh well, 2 more days I have to tough it out. Today I think will be cleaning day + library day (stupid homework), and tomorrow after classes, I might go to "Children of Heaven" at the Memorial Union lecture bowl. I haven't decided for sure yet.

Karissa's only been gone two days, but it feels like longer, and I'm getting hungry (kidding, I'm eating). If anyone's curious, though, Is took the flight pretty well. She fed during takeoff, and behaved pretty well the entire flight. Some people think infants shouldn't fly (it was even in an Ask Amy column, which in a rare occurrence, I agreed with her opinion). These people ain't thinking about how much worse a car trip would be for that kid. Sure they're screaming, but the parents have to deal with them, not you. Karissa's post about the Christmas party should be proof that it sucks more for the parent than for the others.
Anyway, I've obviously been a little bored. I'm babysitting Cupid, Karissa's mom's dog. For anyone who didn't get to visit April's lake cabin on July 4th last year, he is VERY choosy in who he lets be his buddy. It took up to that point to even let me puck him up, and that was because Karissa and I were the only ones he knew and trusted. He doesn't like loud noise sudden noises, or sudden movements, and is an old crank. But we get along. I also got to babysit Karissa's sister's guitar. It's one of those Wal-Mart First Act guitars, but I always wondered how they played. They're not the best, but I've played much worse. So I've been playing guitar. Perhaps the ONLY thing good about me bachin' it this weekend is that I got to bring in my big amp and really open it up. My ears rang for a few hours after the first time, but it was nice. I haven't been able to do that in a long time.
So, anyway, I was playing Pantera and getting good practice in with my pinch harmonics, when I realized that I can't remember how I learned them. I know who I learned them from--which makes it even more mysterious. Amadon showed me years ago how to get artifical harmonics (is that right?) by plucking the note and touching the string lightly with your picking thumb (not your nose-picking thumb, stupid). Unfortunately, anything Amadon tells me enters my brain in fragments of broken English and mostly Aramaic, which I never bothered to learn in high school, so I can't understand most of what he says. I don't know why I don't know what the fucj he's talking about, but when someone else explains it in slightly different wording, I'm like 'Oh, I get it now.' Then Amadon huffs at me and starts playing (insert riff here) three times faster than it's supposed to be played.
But I don't remember how the fuck I learned pinch harmonics! I just remember all of a sudden being able to do them. It helps that I play By Demons Be Driven (Pantera) incessantly--the verse is pretty much one huge, evil squeal, like a devil-pig dancing in flames. Then there's Twist of Cain (Danzig), which really only has one pinch that lasts a second during the riff--but it's 7th fret, A string, which for some reason is a bitch to get down properly.
And then it's not just learning the pinch harmonic, but also getting the vibrato with your fret-hand to make that squeal sing (no offense, Amadon, but that I didn't learn from you--you alwyas had trouble with your vibrato). I just remember being able to do it at some point. That's weird. It's a bitch to learn how to "deaden" a string just right, you'd think I'd remember the beginnings.

Anthro Logo

I was chatting with the Anthro Club president last week (yeah, I said "chatting"), and he mentioned that we still need a logo for the club, as well as our Global Visions film series. The logo would be used for letterheads & t-shirts and such. Not much, but still I get to draw stuff. So I was able to get something together to start with for the logo, it's a little heady (no pun intended) with the symbolism, but I think it works for trying to fit in the branches of Anthropology.
I did 2 of basically the same thing, but with a variation. Both consist of a modern human skull looking left, or inward, suggesting our search for knowledge about who we are and where we come from. The skull on the right is supposed to be Sahelanthropus tchadensis, currently the oldest known hominid (6-7 million years ago, same scientific family as humans), looking right, or outward, suggesting our ancestors looking ahead to the future and moving forward. The beauty of the right skull is that it can be changed if any new discoveries are made.
The bones under them are in fact a relation to the skull and crossbones one might see on a pirate flag, in case any of you were wondering. Actually, it comes from a Maya symbol recognizing the cycle of life and death and honoring it, and it is a skull with crossed bones. The skulls represent biological Anthropology and human evolution. The crossed bones are humerii, and represent the archeological aspect in their symbolism, and forensic science and Osteology in their identification as specific bones.
The globes were hard. They are supposed to represent Cultural Anthropology, and bring the whole logo together with the concept of Unity and the holistic nature of Anthropology. I also pushed all the continents together into a hasty version of Pangea. One variation shows all the land masses blackened out (good color filler), and one shows the land masses drawn as chipped stone tools (hand axes, arrowheads, does that sound more familiar?)--also representing Archeology. So there it is, jam packed with meaning, and I have to write a fucking book just to explain it all!

The land masses are drawn like tools. 

The dark parts are the land masses. 

Isabella 

anthro pic

By the way, some anthropologists believe that biologically, race does not exist. I totally buy into that, but I do realize that different body types are basically built to withstand certain environments (barrel-chested, short-armed, robust body-types are made for colder climates, while taller, long-armed types usually adjust well to warmer, more tropical climates). I also realize that one's melanin content can affect the body physically via UV radiation.
Forgot to add that to the last one.

How Did We Get Here?

I'm not going to go into great detail on this one. This week's Anthro issue dealt with whether early peoples came to North America via a land/ice bridge from Asia through Alaska about 9000 B.C. (or so), or whether they showed up along the Southern Pacific rim. Suffice to say, there is evidence of pre-Clovis cultures (more than 11000 years old), and there was even a skeleton found in North Carolina that is thought to be some 50000 years old.
I also got to learn about determination of melanin content in skin and how skin color is affected by UV radiation. It's pretty basic by now, and evolution kicks in on a more long-term basis, but I learned a lot about how the UV can destroy folic acid in a body, and how a body synthesizes Vitamin D3 (both of which I think affect pregnant women and can affect the baby's color as well). The credibility of the paper I read was in question, though, because one of the things besides small group studies that may have skewed the results was that they ran tests on neonatal foreskins. Weird, isn't it?

A Guy Pissed on Our Coke Machine...

Yeah, it's pretty much self-explanatory. A guy who works construction and stays with us pretty frequently came down tonight because he locked himself out of his room (he was drunk). Three seconds later, another guest comes stomping down from the pool area, points a finger at the drunk guy, and tells me this guy just pissed on the Coke machine. The guy tries to deny it, but this other guest had watched him do it, and was also sober. So I went back to check it out, and sure enough, my training in forensics told me splatter on the ground and on the front of the machine looked and smelled similar to urine. Examining the length of urine splatter on the ground, I determined the exact height of the suspects crotch from the ground and made a match. Alright, I just basically looked at it and decided to believe the accuser over the accusee. I came back and asked the drunk guy about four more times, staring him dead in the eyes and making no effort at politeness, but he kept denying it. Since I didn't see it happen and can't actually prove it was him, I let him stay, but not without a warning that if I hear anything else about him, he's out. That threat's getting a lot of mileage lately. Something good is bound to happen to me soon, I just know it.
On the upshot, I FINALLY got a damned comment card. I don't mind that other employees get them, but it chaps my ass that people get them the first week they work, and it took me over a year to get a guest to mention how I helped them. I don't know, I do good work (sometimes great work), and seeing the place look better after I get through with it, or seeing a guest actually surprised at the good service they get should be reward enough, but sometimes a guy likes to get random kudos from someone he doesn't even know but helped find a good place to eat or brought him a new remote.

Further Problems With Vagrants

Guess who was still staying at my motel as of last night? The same couple who checked in Thursday, the one with the slurring old native American lady who hit on me. Apparently she hit on Jim yesterday as well. Last night she called again, wondering why their message light was on. I explained to her (as Jim had twice already) that they had a $15.60 phone bill to take care. She made one call and apparently it lasted like an hour. I can believe it. She probably had two questions for whoever the fuck she called. She had "no idea" who she could have called, niether did her husband.
Anyway, within the hour after she called down, I received three complaints about arguing coming from their room. I called them once to tell them to quiet down, and finally got fed up with them after the second two calls and called the cops. Cops came, had me call the taxi, and we all headed up to the room. It took them forever to answer the door, and they kept trying to argue (through the stupor) that they weren't arguing. Then the guy started calling his wife a fucking witch who can't shut her mouth, and so forth. One of the officers told him to get up and get dressed, and when he got out of bed, we all SAW that he was buck-assed naked. Yum. He takes around ten minutes just to find his pants, the wife is half-crying because they're actually homeless, and then we also find out that the name he gave at check-in isn't even his name. When we get downstairs, we find out they have no money to pay their phone bill or their cab fare, so the driver walks out with a huff, and the couple leaves on foot. The cops joke around with me for a minute about it and leave.
It doesn't stop there! About an hour and a half later, a guest comes down and tells me there's a couple camping out under the pool stairs! I half-stomp down the hallway. I got a little swamped with laundry because Jim sometimes gets lazy, and the morning person for whatever reason didn't clean up after breakfast. I might have had time to get it all done with ease, but it took around 45 minutes to get these people out, so now I was going to have to haul ass.
I confront them, and she's smoking. She says, "I'll put this cigarette out right now." to try to appease me a little, but I'm not stupid and I notice how small and "blunt" it is, not to mention the smell (which I wouldn't have been able to recognize except for all the people trying to describe the odor to me, so here I was finally able to make the association). At this point, I was through being polite with them, so I told them they had two minutes to GET OUT or I was calling the police. I didn't care where the fuck they went, as long as they got out of the motel.
So, by the end of my shift, I had all the laundry done and the breakfast area mostly clean with an unvacuumed floor. Things could've gone worse.

Violence and Human Instinct

This one's going to be a little short. I finished reading the arguments regarding violent tendencies in male evolution, and I've come to the conclusion that the editors of the book must be purposely throwing in two opposite extremes on each issue, because I think both arguments aren't completely right. I don't believe that there is a violent gene, or a killing gene or a biological instinct in modern men to rape in order to pass on their genes. That last one, if the "power" reason factors in, is completely ridiculous and unfounded. I also don't think it is completely cultural to be violent, nor do I think it is restricted to men these days. Testosterone does in fact play an integral part in violent tendencies, as it helps fill out the arms and shoulders (or so I have read anyway), the arms being arguably the body part most frequently used to fight, whereas estrogen helps widen the hips. Anyway, that part is biological. However, the desire to commit violence and the desire to kill are different. Generally, native Americans tried to preach respect for the animals they hunted and killed, but did not necssarily desire it. Chimps, who are closely related to humans genetically, will throw branches and rocks when they get angry.
Anyway, what I have come to believe is that there is an instinct, at least in humans, for survival. That, coupled with an evolved intellect, perceived and recognized violence as a necessary action for survival. Eventually, it was culture that took the helm and began carrying these behaviors from one generation to the next. This is why women have also become prone to violence, though not more so yet than men, perhaps due simply to different chemistry make-ups and hormones.
I liked this reading much better than the last one--human violence and corruption is one of the reasons I got into Anthropology in the first place.

Harassement on the Job

I got propositioned tonight. This old Native American dude and his wife came in from East Grand and got a room. Both were already half in the bag when they checked in, but the lady kept calling me and asking me stupid questions and for phone numbers to different places around town. While I was trying to deal with her, she would call me a sexy little "ting" and ask if I wanted to do it in the laundry room, and if I've ever done it in the laundry room. If it was someone attractive, or at least someone my own age, or if she wasn't so damned persistent, I would have at least been flattered, but this was more like when old guys hit on chicks. This lady was a fucking grandmother. Nasty. Just nasty. By the way, girls, don't give me that "now you know how it feels to get hit on by someone gross" speech, because this isn't the first time this has happened. If only you could see how close I am to wretching...Anyway, in my senior seminar next week, we get to jump all over the topic of whether not males are inherently violent, or if violence is culturally learned. I haven't read about it yet, but this one sounds fun. Last week we wound up talking for half the class about whether Neandertals interbred with modern humans. I was surprised to hear like eight different opinions from eleven students. I came in thinking yes, they more than likely did, but left the discussion thinking they probably did not. I don't remeber why, though. Unfortunately, my memory sometimes hits a pothole, and I, um...nevermind.

One of Those "Anthro Geeks..."

One of my classmates did a powerpoint presentation today in Human Origins class on "Manipulation of Natural Objects and Development of Motor Skills and Tool Use." She figured it would be pretty easy, being that a good quarter of the class had already taken Lithic Technology the previous semester. By the end of the class, EVERYONE was locked in serious debate over every little detail. Not so much because of everything she talked about, but because someone would argue against a point she made, like bipedalism being a result of having to sit up straighter to work the tools, but then someone would jump in and argue something else from that point or take the argument into a completely different direction. Many of us wound up having to explain that for Oldowan tools (oldest known stone tools) wouldn't require much "upright work", and that bipedalism didn't happen in one night or even a year. There was also the question of cranial capacity increase being a prerequisite for tool manufacture (which isn't necessarily true, being that cranial capacity isn't directly proportional to intelligence--some crows have learned how to tell which light at a stoplight means "stop" by observing how cars stop and go according to their colors. They use that knowledge to drop nuts on the streets while the light is red & wait for the car to drive over them & crack them open).
Anyway, it was neat, because I had to get in and defend some of the stuff about lithics (like how some think it's easy to make an Oldowan-style tool--try it and see how "easy" it is and how bruised you get), and by the end of class I was overstimulated and wanted to keep doing Anthro stuff. Unfortunately, I had to go to a History class and force myself to sit through a lecture.
Sometimes it's still hard to get used to the fact that I'm a huge geek.