Beach Haven

For some time I've been writing the occasional story of something happening that was unintended. Along the way I've been seeing many instances of the unexpected that have nothing to do with what someone may have intended, but have passed the story by because it seemed outside the original idea of 'unintended'. In fact, 'unintended' stories are really just a subset of 'unexpected' stories. With that in mind the blog search now includes a topic of 'unexpected' and I won't publish any more stories under the 'unintended' moniker. I already have a few in the hopper I can start with in a week or two. Stay tuned.

It’s been my experience that when people think about cool new software advancements, they rarely think about the impact on physical hardware and what it takes to support that hardware. In a recent IEEE article titled “Generative AI Has a Massive E-Waste Problem” Katherine Bourzac does note the increased requirements of water and electrical grid load. The focus of her article is not on this environmental impact, nor the need for more raw materials to build new servers. Rather, her focus is on the need for evermore capable hardware platforms to run the evermore sophisticated algorithms that search growing databases. Predictive AI ‘learns’ patterns from all sorts of information sources. This approach is known as a large language model or LLM. As we collectively speed up our upgrades, Bourzac notes that it could result in 2.5 million tons of waste increase of old machines we get rid of in the process.

The author reminds us that, “electronic waste contains toxic metals and other chemicals that can leach out into the environment and cause health problems.” She shares that a staggering 62 million tons of e-waste was produced worldwide in 2022 alone. That means our e-waste is growing five times as fast as our ability to recycle it. To make it worse, Bourzac was only considering studies associated with LLM models of AI. There are others as well.

Despite the fact that our machines and the chips that run them get more efficient over time, the volume of systems is still growing. Bourzac recommends ‘downcycling’, meaning repurposing servers for more simple tasks such as web hosting. That prolongs usage so long as the equipment continues to function. At some point though, it will still become waste. Large tech firms have announced ‘sustainability goals’, but these generally relate to carbon footprint and not so much about e-waste. 

Here's the link to the article:
https://spectrum.ieee.org/e-waste

I jog some days. When I do, generally I have something playing in my ears. This morning, among other things, I listened to one of my regular podcasts. It’s called Nature Podcast and is published by the scientific journal called Nature. This particular episode is titled Audio long read: So you got a null result. Will anyone publish it? The article was written by Max Kozlov and read by the podcast host Benjamin Thompson. What an interesting concept. Most journals, including Nature, are looking for scientific studies with some sort of positive correlation outcome. Something that has a new or novel conclusion. However, experience teaches that most scientific efforts result in a negative correlation, or null outcome, just like any other human endeavor. I’m reminded of how many failures the Edison company had coming up with a working filament for the lightbulb before finally getting one that worked. We now tell ourselves this famous story, but until there was a working light bulb, nobody had any interest in telling the story of all the other versions that didn’t work. Had they never gotten it write would there be any interest in the failure and likely death of the company? Even with success, are there articles that review each failure and speak to why they failed? I believe not. It seems like we just lump all the filament failures into a number to show how many times the experimenters in Edison’s employ failed as a tail about persistence paying off.

Kozlov points out, among other things, how journals are in the business of attracting readers. The article notes how there are some sites in cyber space where these negative results are published, but with few submissions and little readership. As I listened to the long read, I was reminded of several other famous arguments made in the past. For example, Robert Merton famously wrote on scientific norms in an attempt to explain what motivates scientists. Many have since argued that Mertonian norms depict an optimistic list and suggest counter norms that seem more realistic to the authors. One could make the argument that any set of norms ascribed are a function of the subjective preferences of the list constructor.

Another argument that came to my mind was that of the 'Matthew effect', an idea also coined by Robert Merton. This assertion touts that those who get published gain some sort of credibility which then makes their future findings more likely to be published. The idea is from the biblical book of Matthew when the statement in one of the parables asserts to him who have shall be given more, and to him who has not shall be taken away even that which he has. Now, of course, these New Testament ideas were not about scientific credibility, nonetheless Merton makes hay from the idea. Taking it a step further, Margaret Rossiter added a feminist perspective asserting that women in this predicament are even less likely to get published or recognized for their scientific research, dubbing her argument the 'Matilda effect'.

The Nature article shares several unintended consequences of this propensity to only publish positive findings and ignore null outcomes. In the environment of ‘publish or perish’ people who have null research outcomes are likely to drop efforts and not document them. There is a reinforcing relationship between readership levels and publication levels of negative findings. Also, there are likely missed opportunities in that some researchers might find inspiration in null findings to move the research in a different direction. These avenues could be missed if they don’t hear about the research. When such findings are not shared, others may also waste time by conducting the same failed research unawares. As with Nature, it seems to me there ought to be some way to encourage publication and consumption of null-finding research. 

​This is a slightly modified version of a story I wrote back in March of 2008 for the print version of the BHP.  Enjoy.

Fairview. It's interesting how a single word can churn up so many thoughts and memories. In a small town in eastern Pennsylvania in the early seventies life was blue collar. Houses were old and small. The people were wonderful and terrible.

Much of my life on Fairview Avenue revolved around the alley behind our house, the open grass lot next to the volunteer fire station just down the block, and Fairview Elementary.

Fairview Elementary was an old box of a building. It was solid red brick. The front doors were at the top of a tall set of concrete steps. The basement was half above and half below ground. It housed the cafeteria and the boiler room. The other two stories were classrooms, hallways and bathrooms. We didn’t get lockers. Each classroom had its own closet where we each had a hook for our coat and shared shelf space for a lunch box if we didn’t eat the cafeteria food that day. Most of the building was surrounded by an asphalt playground. It was on a street corner and the property stretched from Fairview Avenue to the alley. Behind was an empty grass lot across the alley. On one side was a neighbor’s house. In the narrow strip between the school and the house was a bit of rocks and weeds bordered by a tall chain link fence. Poplar Street ran the length of the playground and crossed Fairview Avenue. This is where I learned to fight. It's where I learned to avoid some people. It's where I fell in love the first time. It's also where I learned the nature of a lie.
 
I was ten. During the summer I had my first broken bone. Along with friends, I had been jumping off the banister on the front porch of our house. I'd done it hundreds of times before. Then came the one time when something didn't go the way it had so many times in the past. My arm went down before my legs. When I picked up my arm to look, I saw a perfect Z shape before the swelling started and turned it into a grapefruit. Both the bones in my left forearm had been broken.

The plaster cast went on. It went from my hand all the way above my elbow. Over time the cast filled with signatures of friends and family. It was my first real experience with a hospital. I remember sitting forever with my balloon arm wondering when they were going to do something. I remember being asked if I wanted my name in the paper.

I had never thought of such a thing. My name in the paper. Wow! Looking back, I understand this was just a standard hospital blurb in the weekly paper. In the more modern time of confidentiality and HIPAA this would likely never happen, but back then in small-town America it was business as usual. The idea both flattered and repulsed me. I would be known by all, but what would they say? Keeping my mind busy helped me to lower the crying and whining I had been doing because of the pain. I survived. Six weeks later, after all the itching, the saw came out, the cast came off and the summer went on. Then came fifth grade.

Fifth grade. The same kids were there from fourth grade. Radell Harding was there. She was a typical blond skinny, budding young lady to others. To me she was sighs and blushes. The game of the school day was kick ball. This was no wimpy little kids' kick ball. This was cut-throat and blood-loss-at-every-game kick ball. Bruises and scrapes were common. Glory and shame for the entire school year road on every game. Fights broke out every couple of weeks. It was wonderful for ten-year-old boys. I got my licks in like the rest. I also sometimes took and gave during the occasional spill-over fight that happened in the neighborhood when all the teachers were gone.

One of the best things for a boy to be able to do at Fairview was to work with the Janitor. I was on the crew. It was great because we could get out of class for the work. We also stayed some extra time in the boiler room. When the work was done, we'd sometimes agree that we were still busily working when we were really tossing paper into the boiler and watching it catch fire, or concocting other risky and destructive behaviors. The janitor was crotchety and rebellious like we were, and we all loved it.

Sometime just before Christmas my name came up for another fun assignment, milk detail. As fifth graders, we all got the chance to get out of class for fifteen minutes or so to go get boxes full of milk cartons and distribute them to the classrooms just before milk break. My turn would begin just after the holiday break in January. I was looking forward to the excuse to escape class each day, but not as much as I was looking forward to the holiday break. I had two things in mind for the holiday, sleeping in and snowballs.

At church there was a buzz. It was Sumo Tom, an unusual name for an unusual boy from an unusual family. The Tom family and our family were good friends. Their kids and those of my family were roughly the same age. Sumo was a year younger than me. They had horses and dogs. We had a dog, but that was it. Jesse Tom was the family patriarch. He was Hawaiian, real native Hawaiian. I was told he was some relation to Don Ho. His wife was Ethel. She had fire-like red hair that matched her personality from my childish perspective. I always thought she looked Irish, but I don’t really know. Sometimes our church put on talent shows. She would dance Hawaiian dances. It always seemed odd to me. She just didn’t look the part. All the kids in the family had cool sounding Hawaiian names.

Sumo fit his name. He was large and round shaped like the famous wrestlers. He had a happy disposition, and all us kids at church liked him. It was Sumo that caused the buzz at church. Just as school was getting out for vacation he had suffered appendicitis. He had to go to the hospital and have his appendix removed. We all got to see the scar. The girls were repulsed. We boys were sudden admirers of the cool stitches. Over the break I thought about appendicitis. Why couldn’t I have it too? I could be cool like Sumo when I went back to school. Oh well. Too bad.

After enjoying our week of frozen heaven, it was back to the grind of Fairview Elementary. My home room teacher was Mrs. Stout. I remember the name because just like Sumo, her name matched her person. She was older, probably not too far from retirement, a real seasoned and experienced teacher, a real veteran. We all knew that she knew her business.

“Welcome back class,” said Mrs. Stout. “How was your vacation?” The conversation went on between the instructor and her students. Each kid was taking their turn describing their Christmas presents, or visits with relatives. I kept thinking on what I would say. Then it struck me. Just one person ahead of me the wild thought crept in. I had no real time to actually think it through. I probably wouldn’t have anyway. Then my turn came. “I got my appendix out,” I blurted. An excited rustle passed through the nervous class.

“You did? When?” She asked.

“Just after Christmas,” I returned. I could see the admiration building in the faces of the other kids.

“Hmm, I didn’t notice your name in the paper.”
Bang! You could have knocked me over with a feather as the saying goes. All I could say was a weak, “What?”

“The paper. When someone goes to the hospital, they write something about it in the newspaper,” she said quizzically.

My face must have changed several colors. My heart raced. My mouth got dry. I was searching. Then it came to me. When I had broken my arm I remembered they asked me if I wanted my name in the paper. “Well, I told them not to print it,” I answered.
“Why not,” she continued.

Heart thumped and sweat came again, then a flash. I got it. “Well, I didn’t want anyone to worry about me, so I told them I didn’t want my name in the paper.”

Whew! I’d dodged a very big bullet. How did I manage that? Someone was looking out for me. Later that day came bullet number two. It happened during recess. One of the kids had a brother who earlier had  his appendix out. He told of the stitches and the large scar that resulted. “Hey Mike, show us the stitches!” I hesitated. They weren’t necessarily looking for proof. I wasn’t before the Inquisition, but it felt that way. Of course they were just being like I had been with Sumo. They wanted to see it because it would be cool. My mind again had to race. My heart was thumping. My body heated as I trudged through the sticky swamps in my mind pushing for the answer. The answer as to why I couldn’t show them my stitches. Then it came. Sumo was again my inspiration. I remembered he had to pull off a rather extensive amount of bandages to show us his stitches.

“I can’t. It’s all buried in bandages, and they told me I can’t take them off,” I proclaimed.

A collective sigh from my admirers was followed by my own sigh of relief. They seemed happy with assurances they could see the scar later whenever the doctors let me take off the medical wrappings. I was hopeful that I could push it off long enough that they would all forget about it and not ask later. In this I was right, but as it turns out, I was not out of the quagmire yet.

Milk duty, important words. Mrs. Stout reminded us it was time for the new roster of assignees to take on the responsibility to make sure we all got our daily dose. Ah, that half-pint of cold delicious vitamin D and calcium. She read the names then stopped when she came to mine. “Oh Michael, you can’t do this can you?”

“Why not?” I quizzed.

“Didn’t the doctor tell you no lifting until you were all healed up from your operation?”

“Wadaya mean?!” I’m sure she caught the frustration in me.

“Whenever a person has an operation like yours, they are not allowed to lift heavy items for fear the stitches might rip open when you strain your stomach muscles.”

“But the milk crates aren’t heavy!” I grimaced.

“Nonetheless I can’t let you do it. You’ll have to bring in a note from your parents when it’s OK for you to lift things again. When I get that I’ll try to work you into a future milk detail schedule.”

“How long will that be?!” I protested.

“Well, I’m no doctor,” she replied, “but I’m pretty sure the normal time is six weeks.”

I don’t know how many shades of red my face turned. I was red from fear of being found out. I was red from anger because I couldn’t get out of class for milk detail. I was red because I had no idea how I could convince my mom to write a letter that I was over my nonexistent operation enough to get on a future milk detail.

Six weeks! How could she know that? It couldn’t be that long, could it? Six weeks is forever! My thoughts kept stirring. Then I remembered it was the magical six weeks I had to wear that plaster cast when I broke my arm. Maybe Mrs. Stout was right about that. Dang, why do grownups always have to know so much? The solution was going to take me some time. Six weeks of time to be precise.

So, I needed a note from Mom. Hmmm. This would be difficult. How can I get this done? Well, I was sure she wouldn’t write it. So I guessed I’d just have to write it for her. This would take some real finagling. I needed something that she would write so I could copy it. I needed something that said more or less the same thing as a permission note.  Then it hit me. How many times before had Mom written an excuse for my being out of school? Every time I was… SICK! Of course that was it. I had figured it out.

I picked a day to be sick. I did a great job at being sick. I don’t know if she completely bought it, but she bought it enough to let me stay home. Of course, while my parents were at work I had all day to figure out what my milk-carrying, no-appendix-problem note would say. I was smart enough to have my “sick day” about a week before the six-week banishment was up. Sure enough, the next morning before going to work, Mom wrote my excuse for being home sick the day before. I had about an hour from the time she left until I had to be at school. I spent the whole time feverishly creating my forgery for milk duty. I carefully wrote over and over again using the sick note for my model. After what seemed like about a hundred tries, I got a version I thought sounded like the sick note and looked like her hand writing. I went to school and hid the forgery. A week went by. I handed in the permission slip “Mom” wrote. Mrs. Stout added me to the next rotation of milk duty. I was saved.

This is a totally true story. Well, I suppose a few caveats to that assertion would apply. Remember I was a 10-year-old. So the perspective of exactly how things were came from the limited understanding of someone of such a tender and inexperienced point of view. Adding a sort of questionable-ness to all of this is the fact that decades have come and gone since these events. If my understanding was shaky to begin with, it’s even worse now.

As I have recollected this experience in life over time, I’ve decided that in all likelihood Mrs. Stout understood what was really happening from the very start, or at least early on. I can envision in my mind teachers hanging out in their hallowed lounge where no student can enter. I see them in my mind laughing as they told and retold the story of the kid who pretended to have his appendix removed. In fact, I’ve even gone so far as to imagine my masterful forgery hanging on the lounge bulletin board for a reminder to all the teachers.
​
I did learn something from all this. As it turns out you can’t tell just one lie. Usually lying is an attempt at gaining something when, in reality, by lying you lose freedom. Trust is easy to lose and hard to regain. I wish I could say I never lied again after all that, but I can say it’s been a very long time since I’ve lied. Telling the truth, as it turns out, takes less work. You don’t have to remember what you said to whom. You just have to tell things as you remember them. That’s what I hope I’ve done here. No foolin’.

Back in 2019 I posted a review of this book. I'm reposting it here as the entire work is a testament to when the stated outcome of a technology in fact has the opposite effect. As technology entered the home with the intent of making work for mother become easier, in fact all the it tended to do is lower work for everyone else in the home. While 'mother's' work surely changed, it did not abate. In deed, work may have increased for her with each new invention. Below is what I published back then.

MORE WORK FOR MOTHER
By Ruth Schawartz Cowan
Free Association Books, 1989, 257 pages

​Most Significant Arguments

In More Work for Mother, author Ruth Schwartz Cowan links changes in domestic work with changes brought about by technological advancements. She speaks to the separation of labor into work for women, men and children. As technology makes tasks easier, or even not needed, Cowan notes how most of the advancements replaces work done by men and children. Those technologies that do help with “woman’s” work removes the “need” to keep other women help in the home.

Examples of taking away work by men and children are often around cooking stoves and ovens. As gas and electricity replaced wood and coal, the need for gathering and preparing wood dissipates. The cooking work still exists, but the help to mother by father and children is lessened, or even eliminated. Washing machines are another example. As machines came into the home there was no longer a perceived need for sending laundry out or having a laundress come into the home. Although doing a load of laundry was less strenuous, at the same time expectation for cleanliness also increased so the amount of laundry work increased. The effect of both of these examples was that work eased, but for mother workload increased.

In the post-war era of the 1960’s and 1970’s work for women outside the home became more normal. Unlike when this happened during the depression when poor women worked outside the home out of necessity, women in general felt either need or opportunity to do so. In this case not just poor women began to work outside the home, but so too middle-class women. Despite this, the housework did not shift off of mother and onto the rest of the family. Cowan argues this is because the division of labor, masculine and feminine work, has been firmly entrenched in American culture. Entrenchment of the single family home and self-sufficiency in America also keeps alternate arrangements from succeeding such as communal work sharing.

Comparison with Other Readings

Jesse Adams Stein addresses the idea of masculine and feminine work in the piece Masculinity and Material Culture in Technological Transitions. She points to the government press operations in Australia to show how cultural assumptions mold division of labor. Unlike the Cowan work looking to the home, Stein is looking at work outside the home, in the printing press. There was a division of “men’s work” in the press at the time of the letterpress. Generally the argument was that running a letterpress machine took physical strength and the ability to know a machine’s quirks so well as to be able to run it properly. Both of these aspects were thought to be beyond a woman’s ability. In fact a few women here-and-there did run these machines, but found other ways of approaching the need to load type if the weight was too much for them. Then the disruption came was letterpress was supplanted as a technology by offset lithography. Male machinists fought moving from the heavier manual process as they defined themselves in that role. Even when offset lithography became the norm, pressmen still defined their role in masculine terms. Less skill was needed to run the machines, but the tradition of working a press had been masculine and change was slow. Similar to Cowan’s argument that housework was primarily looked at as feminine culturally, Stein argues that press work was primarily looked at as masculine culturally.

Strengths and Weaknesses

Cowan’s arguments are well laid out. The technical migration and the corresponding correlation to changes in housework seem natural and logical. Even her arguments about why some technologies or processes were chosen over others seem to work.

One area I question was her depiction of the shift from mother as consumer of services to mother as producer of services. The “products” of mother were keeping the family fed, healthy and clean. As the specific work to accomplish this shifted from others to mother, and the quality and quantity expectation rose, the result was increased work for mother. Cowan gives examples of the shift from consumer to producer such as less delivery to the home with availability of the car. Mother now had to go to the supermarket to get the food rather than having it delivered, or going to a local market by walking there. The supermarket came about because increased use of refrigeration allowed for more variety of food out of season. As expectation to deliver health and food to family included a more varied diet, mother produced transportation of food stuffs by driving to a supermarket that was not close enough to walk to, and would not deliver. She also needed the car to allow for larger loads of foodstuffs required by the increased variety in diet.

I would argue that it is a little more complicated. For example when mother walked to the local market to pick up food, that act is not unlike driving to the supermarket. She was a consumer of delivery before the car (delivery to home, delivery to local market). She is a consumer of delivery after the car (delivery to the supermarket). Like drawing lines in a system between what is in and out of the system, the line between consumer and producer can be difficult. Mother was, and is, both consumer and producer of food delivery both pre- and post-car. The question is where does one draw the line? One could pick at similar arguments given by Cowan on healthcare (doctor home visits vs mother taking a child to the clinic), education (home schooling vs getting the kids to a public school), etc.

The ideas in this work could appeal to students of history, technology, sociology, gender, etc. I think there is appeal here to lay readers as well. The conversations sparked between my wife and I were interesting. My helpfulness with Thanksgiving preparations certainly increased, but I found her unwilling to allow me to get involved in some of the work which seem to support Cowan’s culture entrenchment arguments. Spouses and children should be more aware of the burdens on mothers whether they work outside the home or not.

Bibliography
​Bhattacharjee, Y. (2020, January). A World of Pain. National Geographic.

Reading a deep-dive article about pain studies in the January 2020 issue of National Geographic, I noticed two instances describing how virtual reality (VR) was used to counteract pain successfully.

In the first, a patient is awake during surgery. A picture shows the person on a gurney with a surgeon hovered over him. Metal probes are sticking out of the man’s midsection. His face is covered with a VR headset. The note next to the picture describes how the patient plays a VR game called SnowWorld. The note further explains that during the procedure “he had one stabilizing pin removed from his pelvis” (Bhattacharjee, 2020, p. 49) with and another without the VR. The study “suggests VR could decrease the need for general anesthesia, reducing risk and cost”. 

In the other example, a chronic pain sufferer “watches a mesmerizing motion of jellyfish on a virtual reality headset” (Bhattacharjee, 2020, p. 61). This approach was said to help regulate “body responses to pain, improving mood, and reducing anxiety”.

VR displays at different media conferences I’ve attended for decades now, have been all about transporting a user into other worlds, be they natural like viewing ocean creatures or man-made like a video game. That’s been the base intent all along. I might argue it is likely that VR creators did not consider the pain-reduction potential of this particular technology. Mood modification is a part of the approach of most media. For example, music can pump up or relax the listener. Movies can evoke fear, excitement, sadness, or romance. Media as a form of escapism has a long history, but escaping pain might be a new take on the specific tech of VR.

I thought I’d take a stab at sharing ideas around a specific area that has long been an interest of mine. It’s probably fair to say that each of us has had to make decisions based on fewer facts than we would have liked. Even if we have a large amount of data, inevitably we can’t think of every possible effect our decisions have. We stumble along doing the best we can with what we know, and hope things generally turn out for the better (whatever we think ‘better’ means). Some of the results of our decisions are like medical side effects. Most of those side effects seem to be all about potential problems, but sometimes they result in a whole new area of benefit we hadn’t thought of.

Not all ‘unintendeds’ are ‘consequences’. That’s why I will stay away as much as possible from the moniker of ‘unintended consequences’. I’m sure in this new blog thread many of the stories will speak to such consequences, but there are also other unintended areas. For example, in the world of technology where I butter my bread, there are also often unintended uses that result from user experimentation. I supposed one could argue that’s a consequence, but I think of a consequence as an outcome, not as a ‘next step’ such as in the world of technological innovation. In that sense, targets of technology use the artifact in ways designers did not intend. That’s some fancy jargon to say ‘necessity is the mother of invention’.

Like most things I produce, this thread will be something my narcissistic side will create for myself. If someone out there is masochistic enough to follow along, I apologize in advance. Writing has become a sort of cheap therapy for me. If you choose to waste your time with this, think of it as me simply thinking out loud in an attempt to understand something of interest to myself. If that’s not the very definition of egocentric then I don’t know what is.

Let me start with a straight forward example. For years we lived in northern Virginia and I rode a commuter train into Washington DC for work. The train is called the Virginia Railway Express (VRE). From my stop on Brooke Road to Union Station in downtown DC the ride took about an hour. All sorts of people got on and off along the way. For example, it seemed like most riders I got to know were federal government employees of one sort or another. There were many military folks who wore uniforms. Tourists or visiting families were an obvious stand out on some days. People studying college courses of one sort or another could be identified with their books out and laptops busy doing homework. Dress ran the gamut from very casual to very formal.

I usually sat on one of the upper tier seats. You get a better view of the Potomac River from there. One day I noticed a young lady of maybe late 20s or early 30s sitting across from me in a similar seat position. After a while, she pulled out her phone and began staring at it and moving her head in the way one does while taking a selfie video. My old man eyeroll went unnoticed. My judgmental attitude was of course behind it. A few minutes later I glanced back and everything changed. My ‘get off my lawn’ brain had faded and my ‘techie’ brain engaged. She was obviously in the act of applying her makeup in preparation for the work day. Her clothing was quite professional, and everything about her seemed the opposite of my original assumption.

I am quite sure the inventors of the cellphone camera did not imagine themselves to be providing a makeup mirror when they added it to the base product. Yet, here it was. In the world of the swiss-army-knife of electronics, a tech user had managed to remove the jangling burdens piled into her purse by one more item thanks to the unintended use of the cellphone camera. Her makeup mirror has no doubt been relegated to the back of one of her bathroom drawers, and will likely never see the light of day again. A quick scan online these days produces a long list of makeup mirror apps that are downloadable to any 'smart' phone.

​Maybe in a future writeup I'll try to unpack the idea of the phrase 'smart phone'. At least I may have the intention to.