Being as it’s Tony Rice’s birthday, here’s one of his songs, with his astonishing flat-picking leading the way. And listen to what he does for comping when the other guys are soloing. This might be one of my all-time favorite albums…
STEVE SMITH READY FOR WEEKEND. WEATHER GOOD, SO MORE HIKER AND CAMPER IN WOODS. STEVE SMITH BE THERE GREET THEM ALL. BY GREET, MEAN RAPE. THEN STEVE SMITH CONTINUE WORK ON TREATISE – A FREE CASCADIA, SNACKS AND RAPE FOR ALL! HIM THINK IT BE BESTSELLER. JUST NEED MORE BIRCH BARK WRITE ON.
BUT FUNNY GLIBERTARIAN PEOPLE HERE FOR LINKS, NOT BOOK NEWS. SO STEVE SMITH MAKE SURE YOU GET LINKS. BEST LINKS IN WOODS.
THIS MAKE STEVE SMITH SAD. NO HURT SELF. STAY, MAKE SURE BAD PO-PO GO GET WHAT COMING THEM.
STEVE SMITH GLAD HIM REFINANCE CAVE. HOUSE COST TOO MUCH HERE! IT NOT HELP THERE TOO MANY HOBO AND DUNG PILES. STEVE SMITH INVITE PEOPLE, COME LIVE IN WOODS. STEVE SMITH HEAD OF WELCOME WAGON…
HIM NO MAKE SENSE. SHOOT AT BAR? WHAT BAR DO HIM?? HIM THINK HE FLORIDA MAN? HIM JUST SILLY PORTLAND MAN.
WHYCOME THEY SHOOT CRYPTID DOGGLE?! HIM JUST WANT BELLY RUB, NOT BULLET!
Happy Friday ever’body. I hope your weekends are all extra-spectacular. I’m going to prison tomorrow! Just to visit. One of my in-laws is an outlaw, and its time to go see him again. The best part about visiting prison is being reminded just how much it sucks to stand in line and wait on The Man — who often resemble the kids in high school who were too dim to follow the rules, or really get into trouble. Anyhow, my wife and I are leaving the kids with Grandma and Grandpa all day! So its like the ultimate Florida Man date!
On the one hand, its tough to grow the job rolls when everyone who wants a job has one, on the other hand, I wonder how Tucker is gonna spin this for Trump.
Props to the Navy for avoiding this collision. I know that hasn’t been a guarantee for them, lately.
The editors tell me since this is a midday post I need to keep the fucking language to a minimum. Sorry, my bad.
Well…”Gentleman”. Krugnuts took a two week hiatus in May for some reason. Now that his S&M Session is over, he put out a double dose of lunacy last week. Sadly, I only get so many free articles to NYT. So here it is.
I gotta say, it was very clever of Nancy Pelosi to steal Donald Trump’s strawberries, pushing him over the edge into self-evident lunacy.
As everyone knows, Trump stormed out of a meeting on infrastructure, apparently out of uncontrollable rage over Pelosi’s remarks pointing out that the administration’s stonewalling on all fronts, including raw defiance of the law requiring that it provide the president’s tax returns, obviously amount to a coverup of something (and maybe multiple things.) And Democrats should be grateful.
And I don’t just mean that they should be grateful to see Trump displaying his unfitness for office, which has long been clear to close observers, in such a dramatically unhinged way that only cultists can fail to see it. He’s also helped them with a political dilemma.
Yeah, there is no law requiring the President to release his tax returns. Just ask this law firm, or these people here, even MSNBC says it. Stop lying.
You see, a major infrastructure push is a very good idea, one that Democrats would find it hard to oppose in good conscience. Yet it would also be politically good for Trump, helping the economy, giving the public a sense of progress, and also making him seem more like a normal president. And Democrats would have had a hard time avoiding making him this gift.
True, Republicans seem able to get away with blatant economic sabotage when a Democrat is in the White House. But Democrats, in part because they don’t have Fox News to insist that black is white and up is down, are much less able to pull this off. Luckily, Trump has solved their problem.
First things first: Why is an infrastructure push such a good idea? Partly because we have been underinvesting for years. The state of our roads, rail lines, water systems, and so on speaks for itself. Beyond that, private investment demand remains weak, leading to low government borrowing costs; investors are effectively begging the government to take some of their money and do something useful with it.
Muh ROAAAADDDDZZZ
On top of these considerations, infrastructure spending is especially desirable in a depressed economy, when it puts idle resources to work in a way that promotes long-run growth. But, you may argue, the U.S. economy isn’t depressed right now. Indeed it isn’t; but it’s more fragile than many realize. When the next recession comes – and there is always a next recession – the conventional response, cutting interest rates, will almost surely be inadequate. On average, when recession strikes, the Federal Reserve cuts rates by 5 percentage points. Currently, however, rates are only half that high, so the Fed doesn’t have enough room to cut.
Yes, its much easier to prog harder while you are already progging. Kind of the reason why they invented buttplugs. A better question in all of this, is what if we just cut the FED out of the equation altogether?
And when recession does strike, it will be too late to get a major infrastructure program going. Better to have it already underway.
So a big infrastructure push makes a lot of sense; it would also be good politics for Trump. Yet 2 ½ years after Trump took office, and after a series of “infrastructure weeks” that seem to come almost as often as the president’s golfing trips, nothing has happened. Why not?
Because the only thing the party of retards and the party of dumbfucks can agree on, is how much they hate Trump? Oooops. Sorry.
One answer is that Republicans in Congress have no interest in infrastructure spending. They see any form of public expenditure, no matter how justified in terms of narrow economics, as problematic because it may seem to legitimize a larger role for government in general.
Another answer is that until now Trump officials have been completely unwilling to consider a traditional, clean infrastructure program – you know, just build stuff. Instead, they have proposed complex public-private partnerships that would in effect subsidize the privatization of public assets. It has been easy for Democrats to reject such ideas, as not really being about infrastructure at all.
Right. Not enough room for unionized graft or enough time for construction companies to grease their palms if the whole thing is privatized. Its easy to just kick the can down the road.
After the 2018 midterms, however, it began to look as if Trump, wanting a policy win, might finally be willing to talk about a genuine infrastructure plan. And this had the potential of becoming a trap for Democrats, who would have trouble denying him that policy win.
But it was not to be. Let’s not try to pretend that there was any clever political strategy in Trump’s walkout; it was just his immaturity and insecurity, but even more obvious than usual. And the attempt to portray Pelosi as out of control is so ludicrous that only totally deluded people – i.e., around a third of the country – could possibly believe it.
So if I were Pelosi and Schumer, I would be quietly expressing thanks to Trump for throwing a tantrum, and extricating them from a potential political trap.
TL/DR Version: ORANGE MAN IS STILL BAD. TRUST ME I HAVE A NOBEL PRIZE HIDDEN IN MY ASS.
Another fine work week draws to a close here. I still have a job (for the moment), it’s still hotter than fuck here, and every politician is still pissing me off, especially the retarded congressman who “represents” me. On the bright side, I will spend the weekend with my lovely wife (forestalling the rusty tin can lids) and Wonder Dog, hiking in the mountains where it will be marginally less hellish, and doing fun things in my home laboratory.
Speaking of pets, let’s all extend our sympathy to mexican sharpshooter, who lost his beloved Harry yesterday. Burial was in the back yard with his kids as pallbearers. Rest in peace, faithful friend.
Let’s move on to news stories so you good folks can pretend that there’s actually something here beyond an excuse for silicone titty pix of chix with bad tats and duck lips.
Once I got the bed installed to the case I needed to make sure it went up and down without any issues. Here is the leg that swings out to support the feet when you lower it:
Next I needed some stoppers to keep the bed from going inside the case too far:
So now the face of the bed frame will sit flush with edge of the case:
Now I can do the trimwork, which involved staring at it for a while. I decided I liked the panel look on the changing table I made so I wanted to replicate the square edges and lines. That involved ripping various widths of poplar down to ¼ inch thick, so I bought a bandsaw to make this task easier. I bought this WEN 10″ model and a ½ inch Woodslicer blade. The widths of the trim pieces are 1 ½ inches, 4 inches, and 6 inches. The saw handled the 1 ½ inch boards no problem, did okay with the 4 inch boards, but struggled with the 6 inch boards so much I ended up using my table saw instead. Here is the 1 ½ inch board:
The motor just isn’t strong enough for the 6 inch boards, and wandered a lot with the 4 inch boards until I figured out a better technique. If I did this again I would probably cut them to 5/16ths of an inch and plane them down to ¼ inch. I figure this saw will be able to handle just about everything else I want to do, but If I ever get to where I’m resawing a lot of wood I will need to upgrade to something more powerful.
Once I got everything cut, it was easy to get it nailed on with some ⅝” brads. I didn’t use glue, but in hindsight I probably should have as a few of the pieces popped off when I moved it to paint. Here it is ready to go with the latches on the sides and a handle in the middle:
With everything installed I gave it a few test runs and there were only a couple of spots where the bed frame rubbed against the case. The frame needed some sanding and softening of the edges with a ⅛” roundover:
Then I added a headboard and took it into the paint booth I set up in our basement:
I draped some plastic on the walls by tucking it into the drop ceiling tiles, and used an old area rug to protect the nasty carpet. The area rug sat on the plastic and really helped seal all of the dust and overspray into the booth. Mrs. McGinty was a little skeptical about this idea, but I proceeded to man-splain all of this manly stuff to her and she eventually came around. Here is the first coat of primer:
My painting experiences have taught me that white paint needs gray primer, and gray paint needs white primer. That way you can see what you’re doing. I didn’t bother painting the inside since the mattress would be covering it up. After this side was painted, I flipped it over and painted the front:
You’ll notice some streaks in the finish. I laid the paint on thicker than I normally would since the surface was flat. As the paint dried, the thinner spots dried first and affected the sheen. It’s noticeable when the light hits it at certain angles, but otherwise only my nit-pickyness can tell. I may stop by someplace that does commercial painting and ask for some free advice.
The weather worked out so I was able to paint the case outside. It was a pain in the ass to move, mainly due to Mrs. McGinty lacking upper body strength and not listening to me, but I was also getting tired of working in it day after day. I finally got it all painted, hauled into the basement, and set up. I added a strap to hold the mattress to the bed frame when it is in the vertical position where the legs attach to the frame:
At this point I realized it sits too low for my dad, so I bought a box spring to raise the mattress up about 5 inches. Perfect height. Then I proceeded to raise the frame up to check the weight, and realized the legs that support the foot end won’t properly close. After some profanity, I figured some blocks that raise the bed 2 ½” inches will be fine. Crisis averted:
As an added bonus, the blocks create some space to hide contraband. Here it is with the mattress:
And the final test…
I used 4 inch lag screws to anchor it to the wall, hitting the studs solidly in 4 of the 6 tries. It’s solid, and my dad says he sleeps great on it so I’m happy with that.
This was really a challenge to build due to the unexpected hurdles and the size.
Sneak peak at my next write up:
This was the display for the Violins of Hope here in Nashville last year. I built the workbench.
Its the 75th anniversary of the greatest seaborne invasion in the history of the world. Like most giant military operations, it was a cockup, but one in which the invading armies prevailed through the sheer courage of individuals.
This idea seems all wet. But did lead to this interesting factoid: “In the mid 1800s, Chilean breweries would tow small icebergs – sometimes fitted with sails – for refrigeration purposes.”
I think that environmental law is the single biggest issue I “struggle” with when I do thought experiments about the philosophy of libertarianism. How does self- and property ownership interact with the externalities caused by the things that you do pursuant with your ownership of yourself and your property? There are many answers, but the currently implemented one is the EPA.
[Insert Standard Libertarian Disclaimer Here]
Everybody has that annoying neighbor. The one who shoots off fireworks at 2am on Thursday April 17th. The one who blows all of the lawn trimmings into your vegetable garden. The one who honks his horn every time he drives past his friend’s house (yeah, I’m looking at you, jackass!). A core competency of government is balancing your annoying neighbor’s habits with your want for peace and quiet. Noise ordinances keep the fireworks to a reasonable hour, trespass laws keep the lawn trimmings out of your food, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be given the keys to the city when I complete my horn-triggered IED.
One could argue, however, that a well-constructed civil court system may prevent the need for all of these laws and regulations. Between monetary damages and injunctive relief, a civil court could restore me to whole and prevent my annoying neighbor from further annoying me. Tort law has been a hallmark of government for millennia, and its classic application is neighbor v. neighbor.
Great! We’re done! Torts take care of annoying neighbors. On to minarchy!
Not so fast, my friend!
There is a genre of annoying neighbor that is downright toxic. Let’s say, for example, that I have a well pulling groundwater from the regional aquifer, and my neighbor’s in-ground heating oil tank leaks heating oil into the aquifer. If the amount of heating oil is enough to spoil the aquifer and make it non-potable, tort law make for an easy, albeit inefficient, resolution to the issue. Neighbor pays everybody who uses the aquifer enough money to get them hooked up to an alternative water source, and voila! Everybody is restored to whole!
Oh wait, the neighbor is living in a house still using heating oil in 2019, and the aquifer supplies 15,000 people. Neighbor is judgement proof, and those 15,000 people will not be made whole again.
Not For Sale
This exposes one of the core issues with the tort system as currently formulated. The default relief from damages is cash money. If, for some reason or another, the cash judgment is insufficient or left unpaid, many people are left damaged by the negligence/recklessness/idiocy of Neighbor.
I can hear the rejoinder already. In beautiful harmony, a thousand libertarians belt out “Insurance!” There are two issues with that answer, though.
First, insurance is protection against bearing the full consequences of an injustice. It doesn’t prevent the injustice. Insurance may pay out enough money to tap into the local city’s water system, but it can’t unpollute the aquifer. Insurance still doesn’t make the person whole again, because the insured is paying for the service. Insurance is akin to hanging a portrait over a hole in the drywall. As long as you’re happy with that portrait staying there for the foreseeable future, it’s a decent restoration. However, there’s still a hole in the wall.
Second, insurance operates on the convenient fiction that everything has an objective value. It’s a fine assumption for commodities and furniture, but it starts to break down when more unique property is involved. The easiest example is life insurance. That’s not an even trade. I’m not gonna off myself for a few hundred thousand dollars. Even if the insurance pays way over the “market value” of unique property (like a family farmhouse), the sentimental value can’t be replaced. Properties that are “not for sale” are not easily compensated for when they are damaged.
If the aquifer under my “not for sale” 5th generation family homestead is poisoned to the point that there is no convenient way to get potable water to the house, Neighbor has done irreparable, uninsurable harm to me. I may have some of the harm reversed through cash payments, but nothing is going to restore me to being able to live in that house again.
There are three solutions that come to mind for handling this issue. The first one isn’t all that appealing: tell victims of such environmental harm to suck it up and deal with it. Maybe you can get some traction telling somebody displaced from a sentimental property to get over it and smile about your payday, but this one doesn’t translate well when the damage is to people instead of things. “Suck it up and deal with your 5 year old dying of leukemia” isn’t a winning argument.
The second option is prevention. There may theoretically be some libertopian way to do this without using government force, but color me skeptical. Unfortunately for libertarians, the two most effective ways to prevent environmental damage are 1) an expansive growth of the use of injunctions by courts; or 2) a regulatory agency (e.g. the EPA). Self-policing doesn’t work. Communities usually don’t even know enough about the issue (because it’s occurring on a company’s private property) to be able to gin up an angry mob in time. Heck, the injunctive power of the court only works if the community knows that the polluter is planning on polluting. Short of a whistleblower giving his/her best Louis Armstrong impression, it’s too late for injunctive relief by the time it ends up in court. That only leaves the regulatory option. Hello EPA!
The third option is remediation. This is a “sometimes” solution in cases where pollution can be reduced or made inert using chemical or mechanical processes. It’s great when it works, but it’s not all encompassing, and it’s not a substitute for prevention. As they say, “an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”
A Wafting Stench of Statistical Significance
Another issue causes the reactive systems of justice to bind up. Risk factors. In a car accident, for example, it’s pretty easy to prove that Neighbor swerved out of his lane, causing his car to impact my car, causing me to smack my head into the steering wheel, breaking my nose. It doesn’t always work that way with environmental contaminants. To take an obvious case, not everybody got cancer in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. However, epidemiological surveys show a massive uptick in the amount of certain cancers and birth defects.
Exactly how much is a 3x elevated risk of leukemia worth in Benjamins? Can you even say that it was caused by environmental contaminant X if somebody gets lung disease after being exposed to it? Again, the reactive system of justice fails when these unique harms are merely compensated ex post facto with greenbacks.
Libertarians apply the NAP in situations where somebody employs force, fraud, or coercion, but it may be appropriate to expand that to “risk” as well. It’s a bit of a blurry line, and it’s rife with totalitarian pitfalls, but risk is just diluted force, and the pollution itself is a form of force and/or coercion. Much like celebratory gunfire, the lack of a guaranteed harm doesn’t prevent the community from proactively stopping behavior that presents a high risk to others.
The EPA may be a bloated monstrosity these days, but the preventative justice it affords to the community is a unique form of protection for land, life, and limb that would otherwise be sacrificed to short-sighted and irresponsible polluters.
The adapocaplypse was set off by a self-described queer working for Vox trying to take out Crowder and was successful at getting Crowder demonetized which did absolutely nothing as most of Crowder’s videos have already been demonetized.
The door opened and Ramesh found himself face to face with a Troll, a Troll like in The Hobbit. The Troll was doing a dope deal with a chunky young Korean dude.
“Oh shit, the cops,” shrieked the dude.
And at that moment Ramesh remembered that he was wearing a badge.
Today’s Story…
The Troll stood about six foot eight even with his slouchy posture, with a bald head and gray goatee, and several obvious piercings. He was fat, like three neckrolls fat, and dressed in Doc Martens boots, calf-length baggy black jorts, and a black t-shirt with the Thought! Magazine nameplate over his left breast. And large and surprisingly shapely breasts they were, which was a bit unnerving for Ramesh. The Troll looked at Ramesh and grinned widely. His teeth weren’t as fangy as Ramesh expected, and were clean and some had silver fillings.
“Look who’s back. Hi Doc,” said the Troll to Ramesh before turning back to the dude.
“Stuff it, Cho. Doc Bombay ain’t no more a cop than me.”
“Nice suit, Doc,” said the Troll, turning back to Ramesh. “Big change from your usual outfit.”
“Hi. Thanks.” said Ramesh, very curious but deciding his best action was to play along. He recognized the handle “Doctor Bombay, You Know from Mumbai” from lurking on the Thought! website at his boss’ behest. Perhaps all South Asians looked alike to Trolls, and obviously the dude didn’t know Doctor Bombay.
“Hey, can you drop something off with Mario,” the Troll asked Ramesh.
“Sure.”
“Great, I’ll make it worth your while. Here’s his zee,” said the Troll producing a sealed plastic bag of weed.
“Alea iacta est,” thought Ramesh and stepped through the door.
“Here’s a bud for you. Pineapple Express.” The Troll unpalmed a smallish colita and handed it to Ramesh along with the bag.
“Pineapple Express combines the potent and flavorful forces of parent strains Trainwreck and Hawaiian… This hard-hitting sativa-dominant hybrid provides a long-lasting energetic buzz perfect for productive afternoons and creative escapes.” -Leafly
Ramesh had smoked quite a bit of pot before becoming a federal prosecutor. His gift bud appeared to be from the same batch as the weed in the bag. He gave the megabud a good sniff. It was indeed the Express, and of a most fragrant character. “Thanks,” he nodded appreciatively to the Troll and dropped the pot into his suit coat pocket.
“What are you going to be, Doc? Detective? Which timeline?”
“Junior federal prosecutor, working for Preet,” said Ramesh, remembering that the truth was the best lie of all.
“Hurr-Durr,” laughed Godwin. “No way…”
Wow, so Trolls really did laugh like that, thought Ramesh.
Godwin’s laugh degenerated into a long, nasty series of lung noises which culminated in the production of a sizeable loogie which the Troll expertly spat into a short, widemouthed brass vase sitting on the floor. The loogie hit with enough force to cause the vase to tip slightly, whereupon it started rotating making a wuka-wuka noise before finally coming to rest. The oyster, which had been sitting on the lip of the vase covering the opening, slowly burbled up then burst with a wet “plorp” and oozed slowly into the vase.
“Hey Godwin, my bags look kind of light,” whined Cho holding up two anemic snack baggies containing shake, stems, and seeds – the worst sort of schoolyard schwag.
“Take it or leave it, Cho. And tell Mr. Rico Suave he’ll get a nicer bag if he came down himself instead of sending his fanboi interns, and buy more than a dime bag at a time. You’d think he could afford that, right? Your bag is light because of the risk I’m taking,” said Godwin hooking his huge thumb at the sign on the door. “I’m doing good in commenter training and don’t want to fuck it up. Why are you still here?”
Cho stuffed the bags in the pocket of his skinny jeans, and hustled out the door and up the steps, shaking his fulsome rump in its stretchy denim cradle to Godwin’s obvious enjoyment. “Doctor Gilhooly is right, you people are all just one step away from Nazis,” called Cho petulantly over his shoulder.
Ramesh expected Godwin to pursue and catch Cho, and subsequently dismember and/or eat him. Instead, Godwin just slammed the great door shut and began beating on it with his huge fists. “That little shit,” bellowed Godwin. Ramesh now understood how the dimple had formed in the door.
“Hey, could you have the Paw do me one last time,” asked Godwin, still slightly tumescent from his scene with Cho and subsequent raging.
Ramesh didn’t know what Godwin meant by “do me,” but he was about to find out. He had nothing against gay, but working a zombie monkey paw to give a Troll a telekinetic handy was just a bit out there.
“Sure,” he said, playing for time.
To Ramesh’s surprise, Godwin turned his back and bent over slightly cupping his knees with his huge palms. There was ample buttcrack showing. The troll was wearing a black jockstrap with “NASTYPIG” woven into the waistband fabric in red, along with a pig snout logo. Ramesh suddenly felt queasy, like an hour after Chipotle queasy.
Ramesh slowly reached into the purse and extracted the Paw by the stump and held the hand upright, palm towards Godwin. He knew it was best to be very specific with tulpas, but he also didn’t want to risk giving the wrong instruction. And Godwin had said “one last time,” so presumably the paw knew what to do.
Monkey Paw, Monkey Paw,
Make Godwin happy.
Monkey Paw, Monkey Paw,
Just like before.
Sad monkey hoots. The Paw slowly formed its tiny hand into a claw and started flexing its fingers. Ramesh noticed a twitching lump underneath Godwin’s shirt in the vicinity of the shoulder blades. He waved the Paw around with a vigorous circular motion and as he did so the shirt lump tracked the movements of the Paw. Godwin began making a series of happy grunts. Ramesh started moving the Paw down then up, from as high as his arm would reach down to the point in space where the jockstrap waistband began to move. He didn’t want to risk taking the Paw below the equator. Dark spots appeared at several places on Godwin’s shirt, as the Paw popped pustules and expressed bullae.
“Right there,” grunted Godwin in a voice an octave below basso profondo.
Ramesh worked the paw extra special hard and wondered what he had done in a past life to deserve this. He finally finished everything that could reasonably be considered Godwin’s back, and paused.
Godwin straightened up, as much as one could with his physique. “Thanks, Doc. I haven’t had one that good since Lützi Steegenwould was here. She took the MTA out to Brooklyn to buy a garden rake with her little intern stipend just to scratch my back. Godwin became lachrymose, which eventually caused the production of another loogie and another ringing of the vase.
Ramesh had worked up a bit of a sweat. That was the difference between Western magic and Eastern magic – wizards just waved their wands and shit happened; shamans had to expend energy equal to the effect they achieved. The Paw waited for a few seconds after Ramesh stopped moving it, then started cleaning under its fingernails using its thumbnail, then vice versa. Finally the Paw balled its tiny fist then unballed it quickly three times in succession then shook its fingers out. Funny that something dead and rotting, and animated by the darkest necromancy, should be so fastidious. Ramesh dropped the Paw back into the purse.
“I guess I’ll head over to Mario’s now,” said Ramesh.
“Yeah, I know you all have to get ready. I’ll miss you guys,” snuffled Godwin.
“Hey, you’re going to make a fine commenter,” said Ramesh, extending his hand.
“That means a lot, you being a William and Mary graduate.” At that, Godwin pulled Ramesh in for a big hug, and Ramesh found himself smothered in Troll moobage.
“Thanks,” said Ramesh once Godwin relaxed his embrace.
Ramesh turned and walked down the corridor, trying to be nonchalant as if he did this every day. He wondered if Godwin was checking out his butt. But even more disturbing was how Godwin knew he was a William and Mary alum. Unless Doctor Bombay was also an alum, but that would be suspiciously coincidental.
He came to to a Tee in the corridor. He stopped, looked and listened. Identical corridor in each direction. From the right he heard a muffled chorus of screeching, from the left he heard peppy Latin music.
