Monday, July 30, 2001
But then, I have to ask myself. AM I mature? IS this maturity? Or is it just... complacency? Or are they, in fact, the same thing?
Think about it. When you're a teenager, isn't everything fresher, and newer, and rawer? You're capable of working up MORE outrage over events and situations which adults would view as comparatively minor. The smallest slights sting like cuts on your skin. It's no surprise that most revolutionaries and rabble-rousers are young, is it? At that age you sincerely believe that you CAN make a difference, so your outrage runs rampant. You're still fairly self-involved, so everything that happens to YOU is of major importance, good OR bad.
And once you grow up and get out, you begin to see exactly how small you are, comparatively, and how little you can actually do. Some of you, bless you, soldier on, making what little difference you can. You've gotten so many stings that you've stopped feeling each one so clearly; you begin to understand that sometimes people hurt you and they didn't mean to. The world stops revolving entirely around you and how you feel.
And THAT's maturity: a perpetual shell of complacency around your inner self. People refer to teenagers as 'raw', but really, they just leave their sensitive inner selves exposed to be scraped on constantly, until they grow emotional calluses. And soon, there's their shell. Ta freaking da, welcome to the real world, no charge.
Some people never grow a shell, of course. They never get used to it. Each slight stings just as badly, and they're paralyzed with anger and depression and unable to function. Some people never achieve true maturity, either. Somehow, these people are the same people.
It's sad, but true; if you cannot, somehow, shrug off the constant barbs that other people throw at you, you WILL NOT be able to function in adult society. Remember Mooncalf-mature? Sure you do. It's right down there below this entry.
Some people can't function because of emotional or mental disorders. Many more people believe that they have one of those disorders, when in fact, they don't. Whether your inability to function is a true disorder or just an inability to grow up is none of my business.
Of course, some things DO still outrage us through our shell. Some things DO still hurt us. It just takes more. Sometimes it requires a situation to impinge upon you personally. Sometimes it's just got to be bad. Maybe maturity is, partially, the ability to tell real crises from small potatoes. Maturity is better judgement. Sure, if you want to be kind about it.
So, in conclusion (finally, Mooncalf), yes, I AM mature. Yes, maturity IS complacency, at least, to a certain extent. Therefore, I AM complacent. Or, perhaps, instead of being complacent, I've developed better judgement. If I want to be kind about it.
Who the hell knows? I don't. So, my final conclusion is this: fuck maturity. As long as you are a functioning human being, you are exactly as mature as you need to be, and enough of this philosophical crap. Maturity, complacency, judgement, trust, age, outrage... fuck 'em ALL.
I want an ice-cream cone with sprinkles. Who's coming with me?
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 03:49 AM EST
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Sunday, July 29, 2001
So. I'm twenty-eight. (Actually, I'll be twenty-nine this Friday. Woo me. Okay, digression over.)
Twenty-eight sure sounds like a REAL age, doesn't it? All my life I wanted to be older, and now I am. It's odd, really; in Internet time, I'm ancient. I interact mostly with people who are five to ten years younger than I am, and they're always suitably impressed at how old I am when they find out.
Then I slip, and refer to myself as 'old' when talking to real people. Boy, you should see their expressions. And yet, I FEEL old a lot. I'm a cranky old curmudgeonly techno-Luddite with plenty of scorn to go around. I guess I'm as old as I think I am, but...
Sometimes I wonder, am I mature?
Well, the obvious answer is 'no'. After all, I hang around with a crowd younger than I am, I play computer games, I watch cartoons, I have been known to dance with my friends in the food courts of malls and carry water pistols into airports. (Oddly enough, I didn't get in trouble for either of those activities.)
But to heck with that. What you enjoy really doesn't have anything to do with maturity, Mooncalf says. So what does?
Personally, I think that the true hallmark of maturity is being able to support yourself and function in the adult world, as it exists today. Sure, there's a lot that's missing from that equation. And no, it doesn't make any sort of allowances for emotional/mental problems, either. That's a WHOLE different techno-Luddite bagel, and I'm not biting into it. (I'll explain the whole techno-Luddite thing in a minute.)
But if you've grown out of the emotional excesses of high school ('ohmigod he didn't call me I'M GOING TO DIE!') and you've learned how to make personality sacrifices in order to get along with other people, well, that's maturity. If you've got the willpower and the skill to hold down a job, instead of skipping out whenever you feel like it, that's also maturity. If you're able to save money towards what you want, instead of wasting it all at once, hey, that's maturity. Who really gives a shit what other personality weirdnesses you have, which of your other traits your parents call 'immature'? You can survive in the modern world on your own. You're exactly as mature as you need to be, and fuck the techno-Luddite rest.
Okay. All that aside. Once I started wondering about this issue, I sat down and asked myself the following: if I was mature (assuming I was from the definition above), which recently-learned traits were hallmarks of that maturity? How did I KNOW? What had I LEARNED? What the heck is a TECHNO-LUDDITE?
1). I finally internalized the difference between THINGS THAT I, PERSONALLY, LIKE and THINGS THAT ARE GOOD. Conversely, the difference between THINGS THAT I, PERSONALLY, HATE and THINGS THAT SUCK. I, personally, like silly cheesy brainless 80s rock. That doesn't mean it's any good. I know this now. I, personally, like Goth-oriented comic books. That doesn't mean they're any good.
I, personally, hate DBZ. That doesn't mean it sucks. Well, it does suck. But not because I hate it.
The next time you see someone online proclaiming 'Sailor Moon sucks! I hate it!' -- not Mooncalf-mature. Not techno-Luddite.
2). I learned that there is no point to arguing with people about most things. No one EVER changes their minds on stuff, unless it's unimportant work-related stuff they feel obligated to weasel on anyway. Just smile, grit your teeth, and let it go. Also, feel free to make incredibly snide comments to your friends who think like you.
3). Sex is nice. Sex is fun. Sex is diverting. Sex is a good topic of conversation. But sex really isn't very important in the grand scheme of things.
4). Comfort beats looks, every time. This goes for clothes, shoes, hairstyles, furniture, housing, pets, boyfriends, cities, countries, and techno-Luddites.
5). Lying about yourself, your habits, your likes and dislikes, or ANYTHING is about the stupidest damn thing you can do. Sure, it may win you a boyfriend or a circle of friends. But then there you'll be, with a boyfriend/girlfriend who's really in love with someone else, someone who is not you.
You don't want someone to care about you for all the wrong reasons. Not even if the sex is mindblowing. Sex really isn't that important, remember? How many hours of each day can you spend having sex, as opposed to, say, sorting the laundry and playing games and talking?
6). In the entire world, there are maybe four, five people who actively hate you and want to hurt you, unless you are a very volatile person. There are lots of people who like you fine, and probably several who love you. No one else gives a damn about you. Stop trying to make them.
7). Unfortunately, there are a lot of people out there that you just can't trust. Get things in writing. Question the media. Double-check everything.
Sure, almost anyone, mature or not, can look at this list and say 'sure, I knew that'. But in order to be fully mature, you need to INTERNALIZE these things. These things need to be your first line of thought. You can't stop and think about them. You just DO them. That's your goal, if you want to be Mooncalf-mature. And you do, don't you?
Oh, and if you were wondering, a techno-Luddite is the opposite of an early adaptor. We have computers and Internet connections, but we resist getting cable modems because we are lazy. We despise cell phones and pagers, but we'll get them if we have to. We like the idea that we can be out of your reach for hours at a time.
We only developed Web sites two years after everyone else did. We still use Netscape 4.7 because more recent, more functional web browsers piss us off. We read real books. We do not own Palm Pilots, DVD players, portable MP3 players, or eBooks.
And the only tiny electronic device that we ever carried around in our pocket was a Tamagotchi. Which we neglected horribly.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 09:08 AM EST
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Friday, July 27, 2001
For your edification, Mooncalf Noises presents:
HOW TO USE A FUCKING SEARCH ENGINE
Because my tracker tells me that many of you reading this now just don't know how.
(Disclaimer: every search engine result listed below, no matter how outlandish, has in fact popped up in my tracker at one time or another.)
First of all, use Google. Google will enrich your soul and feed your head. Google has very little in the way of ads or extraneous garbage. Google is JUST a search engine, not a conglomeration of random services cluttering up your web browser. It loads fast, it searches fast, and it's powerful.
Secondly, you should stop putting in stuff like plus signs and the phrase '.com'. Searching for, say, 'noises.com' is a wasted effort. Plus signs between words are not necessary. The ONLY time you should type in a fully-formed question ("Where can I find animated GIFs of penises?") is if you're using Ask Jeeves, a strange and amusing service. But in general, use Google.
Try to search using short, informational phrases. If you are looking for .wav files of girls having orgasms, type in "sex noises". But see below.
Third, and most important! Google (and most modern search engines) will dig up text matches for you. HOWEVER. If you do not surround important phrases with quotes -- "sex noises" -- then the search engine will NOT bother to discriminate between a site where you can download .wavs of sex noises and an innocent weblogger who has entitled her blog 'Mooncalf Noises' and talks about sex occasionally. Putting the phrase in quotes means that Google will ignore happenstance, and only show you pages in which THE EXACT PHRASE "sex noises" shows up. This is what you want. Not my weblog.
You can even look for more than one phrase, or a phrase and a word together. You can do:
"sex noises" wav
"sex noises" "small animals"
"sex noises" "two girls"
To take the example from above to its logical point:
You want to hear the sounds of girls having sex issuing from your computer speakers. When you typed in:
girls sex noises
you get my weblog, FIRST on Google's list. I don't have .wav files, particularly not of girls, and definitely not of girls having sex.
If you had typed in
"sex noises" wav
you would have been directed to a billion sites that contain .wav files of sex noises. Ta da.
Fourth, if you are searching for pictures of nude prepubescent children (and I am not for one moment suggesting you should), ignore all the advice above. Get off the Web, turn off your computer, go outside, and try to get yourself some professional help. Nine-tenths of my search engine hits are from people looking for some sort of porn. And yet, it's those pedophile hits (twice a week or so) that make me shiver and feel dirty. Everybody on the Internet may be a sex freak, but pedophiles make me want to wash my blog with Clorox.
Fifth, and finally. Do not underestimate the power of a search engine. I did, once, and look at you people who keep popping in. You all want yaoi and hentai and animated GIFs of naked people and sex noises, and the occasional person who's curious about house centipedes. You want men in pantyhose and naked girls in canvas slippers and teenage girls in stirrup pants and if you use a search engine correctly, it can find you ANYTHING. Even things that (gasp) have nothing to do with porn at all.
Even "the best fucking animated GIFs ever", thank you, you know who you are.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 08:44 AM EST
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Wednesday, July 25, 2001
So it's my habit to check my tracker daily, just to see where my hits are coming from. And my main site got a hit today from a place that I did NOT recognize. Turns out that it's Google's automatic text translation software for webpages, translating my RPG parodies into French for someone.
I couldn't resist. I took seven years of French in high school, so I spent the next hour gleefully wandering around my parodies page, laughing at the wildly varying French translations of my stuff. Some of them are downright terrible (I tend to use a lot of slang and odd spelling, which completely boggles the translation program). And for your delectation:
First, there's the stuff that's either really weird or really pretty:
'Final Fantasy 7' and 'Final Fantasy Tactics' translate as, respectively, 'Imagination Finale VII' and 'La Tactique Finale D'Imagination'. I like that last one. La Tactique Finale D'Imagination. It sounds so pretty.
Oddly, the name 'Brad' (from Wild ARMs 2) translates as 'le clou à tête perdue', or 'the nail with a lost head'. In other words, the kind of brads you buy at the hardware store. Poor guy.
And Google's translation software can only handle a certain number of words before it poops out, so a lot of my longer parodies will abruptly turn back into English midway through. In one case, this was the result:
'Mais pour le crying out loud...'
How Pepe Le Pew can you get?
Next, below I've listed a whole bunch of random phrases, taken completely out of context; these were some of the best (or, conversely, the worst) that I found.
-----
RELM: Ouais, vous vieux farts loony! Pipe vers le bas!
FEI: Citan, dammit! Dites ces types que nous l'un ou l'autre n'avons pas eu le sexe!
MARCY: Karsh jaloux.
EIKO: Ouais, je me comporterai, je me comporterai. Mis me vers le bas.
VIKTOR: Pas vous 'ha' à moi.
MARINA: OUI, vous goober bleu-haired!
CID: Le hah de hah de hah d'ampèreheure...... gardons juste aller, correct? Il est obtenu pour y a une fin de ville près, avec un système de malt!
ASHLEY: J'ai dit, je vais à la maison. Je démissionne. Je me suis mis le feu. Je puis m'affliger mais je ne suis pas STUPIDE.
FLIK: Oaf de Musclebound?
SYDNEY: Ouais, mais elles étaient dorky. Maintenant elles sont fraîches!
-----
And, finally, the four best, the four that made me fall off my chair laughing until I turned purple:
CITAN: Ampèreheure, naturellement, je vois le problème. Le frangelizer interne est off-kilter par environ quatorze angströms... Je doivent re-coniverate le capacitation et l'espoir pour le meilleur. Avez-vous un miteralizer disponible du whackadoo 8-19ths?
(Damn, it's even crazier in French.)
ELLY: Bien! Très bien! Juste parce que je m'avère justement trouver vous attirant ne veut pas dire que je vais jamais vous toucher encore! J'aime Fei, et je vais rester avec lui, et c'est celui! Donnez-Maintenant Moi Ma Robe De Goddamn!
(It's the last part that gets me, every time. Ma Robe De Goddamn.)
SETZER: Les boobs de Nope, et de Celes ne sont pas tout à fait celui grand.
EDGAR: Vrai, très vrai... mais Celes a ces boobs gentils, ronds, fermes... une double poignée parfaite.
('Les boobs de Nope'? Edgar's line is almost perfectly translated, though... which makes it even funnier, to my way of thinking. 'Celes a ces boobs gentils...')
EIKO: Wuv I vous! Zidane était exact, vous sont le plus joli petit ami JAMAIS! Huggle de Huggle!
(This is the best of all. I want a t-shirt that has Eiko saying 'Wuv I vous! Huggle de huggle!' on it. Anyone else want one? Say 'yes' and I'll go get a Cafepress store!)
-----
Anyway, if you'd like to see what my stuff turns into for yourself, here's the link...
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 04:30 AM EST
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Tuesday, July 24, 2001
So, my boyfriend is in one of the upstairs bedrooms, playing Diablo II on his really-quite-too-powerful computer. And I'm in the OTHER upstairs bedroom, sitting on the bed reading a graphic novel. Well, okay, re-re-re-reading it.
And then I looked up and noticed that... it was 9pm. The next forty seconds of my boyfriend's life sounded like this (minus the Diablo II sound effects):
stompstomp stompstomp STOMPSTOMP STOMPSTOMP STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! THUD! "ICE CREAM!"
"Um, what?"
"ICE CREAM!"
"Oh, you want to go get ice cream?"
"ICE CREAM!"
"Uh, okay, gimme a sec... what time is it?"
"ICE C... oh. Uh. It's nine."
"Give me ten minutes to find the waypoint."
"Ice cream."
I like going to the outdoors ice cream place, because it feels so friendly. You've got all these different people, a fair number of them dressed in wet swimsuits and towels, some with dogs, some in rollerblades, and of course a large number of teenagers bucking for the 'Most Fashionably Alienated Clothing' award. And you all sit around on cement benches in the gathering dusk and create this peaceful little community of ice cream eaters. Love, peace, and ice cream. Oh, and neat dogs to play with.
I guess it's as close to communal living as I'll ever get, since I normally hide in my basement away from all the icky people who want to interact with me and deal with the world over the Internet. Alienated? Me? Ha!
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 03:18 AM EST
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Thursday, July 19, 2001
Hm. I don't know.
I think the reason some women are willing to embrace the word 'bitch' is because it implies you are, in some sense, difficult and evil. If someone thinks you're a bitch, it's probably because you stood up to them and didn't let them walk all over you. To take the idea to illogical extremes, if someone says you are a bitch, you have opinions of your own which you're not afraid to state, and you're not willing to lie down and be taken advantage of in order to be 'nice'.
I dunno, it sounds good to me. Bitch != doormat. And hey, if I was meant to be a doormat, I'd have sisal bristles on my back, wouldn't I?
I don't particularly mind 'broad', myself, but it's less of a comment on your personality and more of a comment on your basic gender. Broad equals chick equals tomato equals frail equals squeeze. Geez, do I read enough pulp fiction?
So if someone calls you a 'broad', I guess all they have to know is that you're female. Seems kind of generic, really. Hell, if I wanted to be generic, I wouldn't run a website, I'd run my pantyhose. (Rim shot.)
I guess, given the definitions above, I'd rather be a bitch than a broad. Why can't I be both? I have the boobs to be a broad and the brain to be a bitch... oooooh, profound AND alliterative. I'm so talented.
Bitch and broad aside, I tend to refer to myself as 'just this chick, yanno?'. Which seems about right, really.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 05:22 AM EST
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Hey, it's shameless plug time! I've finished assembling the absolutely gorgeous 2002 Wall Calendar for our shounen/shoujo ai doujinshi circle, Ketsurui. You all must buy one, to support us artists in our quest to become infamous. There's art by many amazingly talented people, plus me.
I will warn you, however, that since we are a bunch of fangirls, there ARE quite a few shirtless men in the calendar. Nothing obvious, nothing gratuitous, nothing explicit, but still, the calendar is PG or PG-13 and should probably not be shown to your parents. Or my parents.
Go buy a calendar, dammit. Well, okay, I guess if you're male it's probably not your thing. But you should buy one anyway so that I'll love you.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 04:49 AM EST
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Monday, July 16, 2001
WARNING: Lame poetry ahead. Damn, it's lame. I mean, LAME. Plus it's poetry about shounen/shoujo ai. Those three of you who are left may proceed.
At least it's not angsty, right? It's just ABOUT angst!
=====
Girl on girl
Guy on guy
Shounen and
Shoujo ai
Yaoi, yuri,
June, oh my,
See the uke
Hear him cry
Naked back and
Naked thigh
Long silver hair
A longing sigh
The uke weeps
Screams out 'why?'
Around his wrists
A leather tie
Or just a smile
A little lie
A lot of angst
Until you die
A tender touch
That makes you fly
A stolen kiss
To know her by
An indrawn breath
as he draws nigh...
A knowing glance,
A smirk so sly
The lowest lows
A maddened high...
Shounen and
Shoujo ai.
=====
Damn, that wasn't even funny. I suck.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 07:20 AM EST
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Wednesday, July 11, 2001
In Memory of Chloe, Who Was Not Quite The Worst Cat Ever
(BGM: Great Gig In The Sky - Pink Floyd)
I got to hold Chloe while it happened. She was wrapped in a towel, and she barely weighed anything. I remember she blinked, slowly, and then licked her lips, twice, in a very familiar way. After about a minute, which felt like an hour, she heaved one ragged breath, and she died.
She was twenty-two years old.
I remember when I was twelve, my mother told me, very firmly and despite all my objections, that we would be getting neither a pet nor a new computer in the future. Needless to say, within ten months, we had both.
The computer was a Macintosh Plus. The pet was Chloe.
Chloe was a long-haired calico cat that belonged to a co-worker of my mother’s. He was moving far away, and he couldn’t take the cat. So the five-year-old calico, rather inappropriately named Tigger, came to live with us.
I promptly renamed her Chloe, a name that I’d always thought was pretty. And we got along well enough for a kid and a cat.
Chloe had an extra toe on each of her front feet, which made them enormous and round, like big soft white snowshoes. She came to us with one eye permanently covered by its third eyelid, a souvenir of a fight with a mockingbird. The eyelid never would go down, even after the eye healed. And there was a BB pellet embedded under the skin at the base of her tail. Eventually, we had it removed. I hope whoever shot Chloe with a BB gun grew up to have a pitiful life and a dead-end career. Damn them anyway.
She was almost always calm and quiet, with a very matter-of-fact deep growly meow. Late at night, she would yowl, and I would yowl back, and we would continue to yowl back and forth until she found me, and then she would jump into my bed and suffer herself to be petted for a few moments. Then she would leave again, and prowl off, to do whatever it is that cats do when it’s dark and we’re not looking.
Occasionally she would go ripping through the house like cats do. I remember that she ran SLAM into the leg of the piano bench once, headfirst, having been let down by her blinded eye. She reared back onto her butt, shook her wounded head, and then tore off in another direction, as if nothing had happened.
And so I went through junior high and high school like that. Chloe was always a part of my life. When I went off to college, my mother kept Chloe. Shortly after that, I added Chessie to our little family. After some initial shock, Chloe reluctantly adopted the pitiful little stray kitten, and that was that. They were a pair, although Chloe could only do so much in teaching Chessie to use the litterbox.
As soon as I had an apartment of my own, my mother dumped both Chloe and Chessie on me. They were my cats, after all, she told me. And I certainly didn’t mind.
Boyfriend and I dragged our cats all over. They moved to the Midwest with us from Texas, and moved from state to state. Chloe was always calm about moving, but then, she was calm about everything. She never changed. She never got sick, she never had any problems, even as she turned twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.
Well, except during the last move, when she accidentally got Drano on her fur and then licked it off. She threw up a lot after that, and I had to wash her fur and feed her milk to soothe her throat. She didn’t mind the milk.
People were always amazed at how old she was, and how healthy she was for her age. And she WAS healthy. Amazingly so. She just stalked on through life, calm and quiet, knowing she was beautiful and not really caring.
She was really starting to fade, though, in this last year. She had some trouble keeping her hind claws retracted, so she ticked whenever she walked on the hard floor. She threw up a bit too much. She lost a little weight.
And then just a day or so ago, her kidneys failed. She lost more weight, she couldn’t walk without staggering, she wouldn’t eat, or drink, or do anything. I took her to the vet. They tried to help her, but she was so awe-inspiringly old that they couldn’t do much. She was miserable. She was dying. So we let her go.
Chloe’s been an integral part of Chessie’s life since Chessie was six weeks old. I don’t know what Chessie’s going to do without her.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do without her, either.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 02:33 AM EST
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Monday, July 9, 2001
Just got back from AX. Those of you who were there with me may notice that I arrived home thirty hours after I left for the LA airport. This is not a typo.
Damn thunderstorms. Damn United for not giving a shit about the displaced.
Anyway, that's all the rant my poor tired brain can encompass right now, because I 'slept' on industrial carpeting last night.
AX? Well, I was sweaty, exhausted, sweaty, sick, sweaty, cranky, sweaty, sore, and sweaty.
I had SUCH a blast.
Cosplay pics will show up eventually, and you may begin fearing them now.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 09:46 PM EST
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Tuesday, July 3, 2001
I ran across this yaoi site that classifies their content as lemon, lime, grapefruit, and orange; lemon for hardcore, lime for softcore, grapefruit for lightly risque', and orange for completely clean. Now, I'd never heard of the latter two before, so I haven't the faintest idea if they're canon or not. I'd only ever heard 'lemon' and 'lime' before.
But I'm thinking, why stop there? Heck, let's think up a fruitiness for every eventuality! Why stop at citrus? Why stop at ALL?
Blueberry! The submissive partner must remain asleep during the sex act!
Blackberry! The same as blueberry, but it also involves the use of clever toys! Sacks and donkeys optional!
Raspberry! Code name for spanking hentai, in which buttocks are slapped to a rosy red hue!
Apple! Any hentai offering involving bespectacled characters! (If said bespectacled character is a computer geek, then the proper appellation is 'Macintosh Apple'.)
Watermelon! Hentai creation involving fat characters!
Banana! Any hentai starring male characters with multiple genitalia!
Tangerine! Any G-rated picture which is extra-sweet and nice!
Peach! Any picture or fic which focuses to a great extent on the female buttocks!
Pear! Just like peach, but the buttocks must be larger!
Mango! Involves 'exotic' characters, whether foreign or alien!
Starfruit! Must have five characters, all in bed together!
Grape! Involves at least THIRTY characters who all look alike! (So-called 'Green Grape' occurs when none of the thirty characters has ever had group sex before. Much fumbling, many mistakes!)
Kiwifruit! A fic so bad, so raunchy, that its very existence causes nations to crumble and banks to fail! (Certain factions of hentai fandom call these 'kiwi' instead of 'kiwifruit'. This distinction has been known to cause hair-pulling fights and knifings. Beware!)
And 'Coconut'... the mere mention of a Coconut fic causes chaos and horror. If one were ever written, the very universe would be in peril!
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 06:53 AM EST
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