1. Logistics and tips for visiting
2. Review of the work as an observer
3. Experience of participating
4. Aftermath

Logistics and tips for visiting

What they don’t tell you anywhere, but if you’re a mathematician you can infer, is that you have to get there early. You might dream of visiting the museum in the afternoon and just walking into her sacred square. Not so! At an average of 20 minutes per visit, only 24 people would get to see her each day. If you get some long-staying devotees, it’s far fewer. This means you have to be first in line. You have to be a member or get advance tickets, get there when doors to the museum lobby open (9:30?), and despite the insistence of the guards (sorry, guards), push your way to the top of the exhibit stairs when it’s go time at about 10:30. If you’re sitting at the end of the L-shaped line after that you probably won’t get in that day. You have to really want it.

Review of the work as an observer

The setup of the performance is both tender and sterile. It is intensely personal in nature – two people sitting relatively close maintaining eye contact. It’s a type of personal that we rarely get these days from anyone but close friends or lovers – never artists or idols. The lack of a time limit in which to complete the performance, or “task” is also a rarity in our fast-paced, action-packed, web 2.0 lives. Every moment must traditionally be filled with something – rushing around between trains and checking our iPhones for updates on multiple media platforms. Those unusual parameters of the work make for a tenderness we’re not used to. But several things take it out of that intimate space as well. By the nature of it being a performance and being in a museum the work is observed. Having others watch the work is a distraction to that intimacy. Being there it doesn’t feel voyeuristic at all, but instead sort of like the masses outside the square are more crude next to the sacred space within. And crude they are – taking photos when that is forbidden, checking their phones, chatting loudly. We even observed people try to run into the square at random and one girl ignore the exhibit altogether in favor of reading a book. The sleek, modern architecture of MoMA’s atrium, the heavy-duty lighting rigs in each corner of the square (cold light, too), the cameras mounted on the walls, and Marco Anelli’s telephoto lens all lend a starkness to the scene.  There’s something very cold and sterile about exposing the technological and architectural setting of the piece so blatantly. How different would it have been if Abramović sat in a small, cushy room with hidden cameras and a plush couch to greet her visitors!

Having the technology so visible brought into focus other questions. What would she do with these hours of video (if it was even archived, or just web-streamed)? And what of those portraits, one for each visitor? Even the way the visitors are referred to on that site – by the time they stayed for, the day, and their order on that day – begs some sort of statistical analysis or meta-project to be undertaken. It really makes me wonder what her view on the technology is. Is it a sharing mechanism to her? How would she feel about visitors tweeting and Facebooking that they were at the performance or reviewing their time with her as I am? It seems like there must be more going on in her intent than pure publicity or going hi-tech because that’s what artists do these days. She does talk about archiving performance art – that pictures or video don’t do it justice but more the accounts of the people that were there, and also the concept of re-performance. Still, it seems that the technology must mean something.

Another intention question I have revolves around the experiences surrounding getting to sit with her. Because there would be mass chaos otherwise, there is this system of a line with a museum guard as gatekeeper of the space. The line is an interesting thing because for the visitor (and co-performer when inside the square), the line is part of the total experience. (More on this in a personal light in the next section.) In practice, it calls up references to our other experiences of waiting – for a flight, in line for a concert, even amusement park lines. Camaraderie forms when spots are held for strangers’ restroom breaks. Boredom, time-passing activities like reading or smart-phone playing, position-shifting, and watch-checking all happen. But does something connect this experience with that of sitting in the chair? If Abramović had her way, would the line exist, or would it be a lazy afternoon wander into the square by anyone interested in no particular order? As for the museum guard, he gets to direct the traffic in and out of the space and convey the artist’s directions to the next visitor. What role does that give him in the performance? I would argue, some! How is it so different for people to hear the instructions spoken rather than read information about a work on a placard next to a painting? Because the guard is outside the square, is he somehow part of the world of the masses instead of her quiet world within, and then perhaps his mannerism, dress, and wording do not need to be considered as much as I think?

Finally, I’d like to discuss some associations we can make to the work. The easy comparison to make is a staring contest. Several people around me referred to this, and I think some participants engaged the concept – seeing for themselves how long they could sit and “challenge” Abramović. My friend who works at MoMA said herself, “Marina always wins.”

The fact that her body is the art, and perhaps somewhat her dress – timeless, long, white, flowing, angelic? calls up images of classical paintings. The eternal fascination of the female figure in art is both contributed to and re-imagined by Abramović.

As a dancer, I also interpret the work in that light. Many years of being in the contemporary/postmodern dance world taught me that anything can be performance, that a body moving is always, in a way, “dance.” I found the moments where Abramović rests between visitors to speak particularly to that. She bows her head and closes her eyes. If the person before has stayed for a long time she hoists herself up with her hands and then to a squat in front of her chair. She often wraps her arms over her head, and sometimes touches her still-bowed face or brushes her hair aside before seeing the next person. Those subtle movements reinforce the ritual nature of the piece. I think the artist was very mindful and specifically chose these actions to rest, and they are effective for the audience (though I’m unsure if they’re optimal for her body). It would be much more jarring to the viewer, for example, if she lept out of her chair and cracked her back each time! I know that she must rest and move for her own sake, but I think it really works as part of the performance as well. We see her hardship a bit in this moment of respite.

Experience of participating

Some of my experience came about by accident. We got there very early, so I didn’t get enough rest the night before (and I’m no morning person!) Also, I hadn’t eaten breakfast for timing reasons and had transportation drama getting to the museum. Needless to say I was a bit spaced out and not in peak physical condition when I got there. I wasn’t talking much and was very focused on just getting a place in line. As the day wore on, my quiet and withdrawn temperament transformed from being a factor of my tiredness and stressed-ness to being actually part of the experience. It’s hard to explain, but after viewing the performance for a while and realizing you’re going to be in that room for hours, it just doesn’t seem right to bust out the phone games or leave the line to get McDonald’s. It’s as if that would take away from the event, the experience, or be disrespectful to Abramović. After all, she doesn’t get to eat, drink, or use the restroom that whole time! I also didn’t feel like talking to strangers in the line. Granted, this was probably partly because I was cranky and not feeling great, but something about chatting casually felt like it would cheapen the experience. So I ignored when fellow waiters glanced over to see who was listening to their open-ended discussion. In summary, from 10:30 to about 3:30 (when Anthony finished his sit) I sat on the hard granite floor; cold; did not eat, drink, pee, or leave the atrium; and barely spoke. It was self-imposed and very difficult, but in retrospect I think enhanced my concentration and understanding of the total experience.

At times I didn’t think I could make it through the waiting. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever waited for anything longer. Near the beginning when one woman sat for an hour and a half I thought, I just can’t do it. I’ll go home and still have the day ahead of me. I really thought that would be the end of it, but I’m so glad I stuck it out.

Finally around 2:30 or so it was my turn. I was nervous, shaking slightly, maybe also out of hunger. I think the nerves were more feeling intimidated by Abramović than stage fright. The guard spoke the instructions to me in a low voice. You must make eye contact. You must be still. You cannot talk. Stay for as long as you wish. When you’re done, bow your head to thank the artist and she will know you’re finished.

So many things raced through my head – how long should I stay? Would any friends see me on the web feed? Is staying longer selfish? Is staying shorter a sign of weakness? What will feel right? How will I sit? Will I feel like crying too?

I purposely slowed my gait as I walked into the square. I sat – the chair wasn’t comfortable and neither was I. I looked in her eyes.

She was tired, I could tell. It was almost the end of the day, almost the end of the project. I tried to tell her a story with my eyes, a million thoughts raced through my head, mostly in words instead of pictures. Could she hear any of it? The background went out of focus, though things would catch my eye – a guard shifting position, a wrinkle on Abramović’s dress. It was both a struggle and a pleasure to stay focused.

Her eyes shifted between staring for the sake of staring and really seeing me. In the latter, one of the lights made a glimmer in her left eye, making it all the more enchanting. What was she really seeing? We blinked at the same time – three or four times in total. Those were uncanny moments.

Partway through I thought I saw her start to crack a smile. It was like a Mona Lisa smile, barely there, filled with silent mystery. So subtle I don’t think anyone but me could have seen. I thought I may have imagined it but Anthony later described seeing it too. I tried to make the same face back. I wanted so badly to communicate.

I found myself simultaneously wondering and trying to estimate how long it had been and telling myself not to think about it. I took some deep breaths. My time seemed cyclical, like a pulse repeating every few minutes. I waited another invisible cycle, thought about leaving, waited another, and bowed my head. It would be easier on her, I thought, to see someone else now. It turned out to be 16 minutes, I had not a clue at the time.

During and after the experience the strongest emotions I felt were sympathy and compassion for Abramović. I wanted to help her in her massive undertaking, to support her when she was worn out, and it was sad and frustrating to only be able to do so with my eyes. It was almost as if I cared not for the people in line (though we spent so many hours together) or the people viewing the piece, but I wanted my decisions to be only what was best for the artist and what she wanted. Needless to say, making faces while in the square (a thought that initially occurred to me) had been ruled out.

Aftermath

I found that Anthony and I had very similar ways of describing the experience, though we were almost too worn out to talk about it over burritos afterward. The whole thing has been on my mind in the days since – I find myself refreshing the web feed periodically to see who is sitting. Seeing myself in the Flickr gallery the subsequent Tuesday was very surreal. People I would have never thought ask about how my visit was.

I will return to the museum tomorrow, not to sit but to witness this and Abramović’s other works. It may be strange. In any case, I think this experience will be with me for a long time. I have a sense that I was part of something very unique.

Marina, if you ever see this, thank you.

I knew that meant less people would recognize what I was, but thought it would be worth it! Here’s a bit about my process, pictures of the final product, and a bit about our night at the NYC Village Halloween parade.

One of the most important parts for me was that the suit be one piece. It would be easy to buy a hoodie and sweatpants as the base of the suit, but I had my heart set on the look of that complete suit with a front zip. So I located online and ordered a pair of hooded footie pajamas. Unfortunately, those did not come in that beautiful green, so I went with light blue and crossed my fingers that I could dye the jammies. While waiting for those to arrive in the mail (yay, backordered) I constructed the rest of the parts of the suit:

Cactus "ears": foam balls, felt, stuffing

Star hair bow: foam sheets and sharpie!

Logo zipper pull: foam and silver nail polish

For the “ears” and the large cones on the body I sewed felt pieces over foam spheres and cones, respectively. The ears were particularly difficult – I found a beach ball-like pattern online that I followed to make the felt fit really smoothly over the foam balls. Before sewing it on, I added small felt cones stuffed with regular stuffing. The star hair bow and logo zipper pull were made from colored foam sheets. Sharpie and silver nail polish added accents. Though it was a lot of sewing, and hand sewing at that, it went relatively fast!

The real problems happened when the footie pajamas arrived. They were late (backordered), and 100% polyester. Though I had no experience with dyeing fabric, I knew polyester would be a problem. I gave it a go anyway with some trusty RIT, but no dice. None of it was being absorbed and the PJs remained light blue! With less than 24 hours until the parade, I made an emergency craft store trip. Two options came home with me: neon green fabric spray paint and real deal forest green spray paint. The rest of the evening was spent a) freaking out and b) spraying down the suit in the dark and wind on the roof. Whew!

By morning the PJs weren’t looking too bad. They were definitely more green than blue, so I got to work furiously sewing on the “ears”, spikes, and hair bow. I finished just in the nick of time and am pretty happy with how it turned out!

Cactus girl!

Fangirl pose!

Does she pose like this?

Extreme closeup!

The parade was fun – this was my third year walking in it. It is a beautiful thing, that anyone can dress up as anything and be in the parade. While the rain, the crowded-ness, and the waiting for our turn is not my favorite part, it was totally worth it to see my fellow New Yorkers of all ages and races out and braving the rain to see the spectacle. There were some cute, funny, and crazy costumes. My favorites were the numerous Mario groups, a Kate (of Jon and Kate plus 8), and a couple: woman in a fur coat with red paint on it, man carrying bucket with fake red paint strands. He mimed paint throwing all through the parade.

A handful of folks recognized my costume – mostly girls and all under 30 I imagine. Some even posed for pictures with me

Walking to line up for the parade. Plus Storm Shadow boyfriend!

Walking in the parade (too bad this guy got in the way!)

Overall, a worthwhile experience!

And the gory details: I got there in great time this morning, and with coffee. Since our arrival was supposed to be a bit later (9:30 as opposed to 9 sharp) the parking garage was a bit more full, but no trouble finding a spot. I settled down in my seat in the main jury hall at just a couple of minutes past 9, and in doing so avoided the bulk of the security line.

Attendance was taken by scanning the barcode on “Part C” of the summons-y thing got in the mail, AKA the Juror Identification Card. Yay, this was computerized. Pretty much the only part of the process that was. Everyone still sort of pushed and shoved to be first to scan in, proving that you can automate but never change people’s behavior, heh.

Around 11AM I was part of the second or third new group called (some previous cases had reconvened already by that time). The 50 or so of us crammed into elevators in a couple of batches and headed up to the third floor, escorted by a court officer. At all points during this selection process there was a lot of herding and directing. I guess it really throws off their organization if someone steps the wrong way. Either that or they hire way too many personnel and they have to give them something to do?

In any case, the courtroom was beautiful and modern. Shout out to Gary for the “In God We Trust” on the wall behind the judge (and “…so help me God” in the oath we agreed to) bothering me so much. At least the saying was posted in pretty, silver, sans-serif letters? We were escorted into the benches normally reserved for observers of the proceedings and began the screening process after oral attendance was taken. I cannot say too much since this case will actually be going to trial (without me!) but I think I can outline some of the process.

It was a criminal case. The judge gave a speech telling us some of the specifics of the case (charges, geographic area in which the alleged crime occurred, etc.) and some general things about serving jury duty. He followed this with a series of questions, something like:

• Do you think you know any of the people involved (defendant, lawyers, assistant D.A., witnesses)?
• Do you have any connection to the place which the incident allegedly occurred?
• Do you have any close friends or family who have been victims of, witnesses to, or convicted of a crime?

I think there were a couple more of these, but this is what I remember. The last question I found particularly generic, but I suppose they have to be thorough. After all the questions were asked, anyone who had a “yes” answer to any one of them was to raise their hand and get in a line to speak with the lawyers and judge in private. It looked like about 2/3 of the group of 50 did this, myself included. Inside the private room I explained which question I answered yes to, and was asked if that would factor in to my being able to come to a fair decision. I didn’t think it would and answered accordingly. Each interview went pretty fast.

Once we got through all of the “yes” people, about 30 were excused, leaving 20 of us. We then moved in to the jury box (with overflow sitting in the first row for observers) and prepared for the next round of questioning. In this round the judge explained some basic legal principles such as:

• The defendant is presumed innocent.
• Guilt must be proven beyond a reasonable doubt/the burden rests on the prosecution.
• Every witness, including police officers, are assumed to have the same amount of credibility (as in, don’t necessarily believe the police officer because he/she is an officer).

After each, he asked if we could accept these and use them in our decision. Nods all around. The next round of screening began in which we were handed a typewritten (wow), xeroxed list of questions. They were something like:

• What neighborhood do you live in?
• What do you do for work?
• Are you married, if so, what does your spouse do for work?
• Do you have children, if so, what do they do for work?
• Have you served on a criminal case/civil case/grand jury before?
• Do you have relatives/friends in law enforcement (defined broadly)?
• Again, do you have relatives/friends who have been victims of, witnesses to, or convicted of a crime?
• What do you do in your spare time?

(Wow, good memory me). We went around the room and answered one at a time. I felt things got pretty interesting here. Not only did I observe the diversity (neighborhoods, accents, professions) of my fellow jurors, but some curious crowd behavior. Certain ways of reading the questions – whether people answered in full sentences, for instance “No I do not have any children” vs. “No” or how they read the numbers off “Question 1,” “Number 1″ were sometimes picked up by others when a precedent was set by one, as well as some of the answers themselves. Half the crowd must have said they do “reading” in their spare time after the first woman did. Most people answered the question about previously serving on a jury with “That does not apply to me” (incorrectly phrased!) instead of “No” once a precedent was set. I also noticed here that some had a much better grasp than others of the judge’s instructions about answering and the actual wording of the questions. Some of this may have had to do with the language barrier experienced by many in the room.

To almost everyone the judge would ask a follow-up question to a yes or no answer – usually along the lines of “will your experience with or background in that affect your judgment in this case?” -  that sort of thing. About halfway through the twenty peoples’ interviews it was time for lunch. We had an hour and 15 minutes this time. I ate healthy again, chatted with Warlock, charged my phone a little, and was told not to sit on the ledge in the main lobby.

At about 2:30 we were called back in from the jury hall to the courtroom to resume our interviews. More communication problems ensued. After completing that round, the prosecution and defense lawyers were allowed to question us. This part felt very “led” like they wanted a certain answer. Almost grade school-esque. More details were asked for about people’s potential identification to the topic of the case. Hypotheticals were posed, also tricky for the weaker English speakers. Most copped out and answered questions with a broken, “well I would have to see what the evidence was,” not a real answer at all. The defense pulled out the old “don’t judge a book by its cover” right off the bat. We could sort of see where this case was going. After being spot-questioned as a group by both lawyers it was time for them to trim the pile of jurors again.

We recessed, the judge said for 15-20 minutes. Everyone was out in the hallway. I observed patterns of who struck up conversations with who. I thought for sure I’d be picked. I chatted with Warlock and Gary. After about 45 minutes (more?) we went back in. Names of people to be sworn in as jurors for the case were to be read. I expected a list of twelve. Four were read, not me. The 16 not read were told we were DONE done, we would not have to return the next day and we would receive our statements of completed service in the mail.

I was so excited! I’m done! While it would have been interesting and provided more blogging fodder to serve on a case, I’d rather be back to my usual (and not not spending $13 a day on parking). So that’s that! If this ever actually comes up in a search result, o random visitors, feel free to ask questions in the comments.

On to our topic at hand. I got called for jury duty! I’m one of these people who hates uncertainty. The minimal amount of information provided on the mailed summons along with the fact that everyone knows there’s no way to determine how many days, what case you’ll be assigned, etc., just drove me crazy going into it. Therefor I decided to take meticulous notes about my experience in case there’s another like me out there, nervous for jury duty in the Bronx, New York.

For those who’d rather the digest version: day 1. Did not get assigned to a case. Boring as predicted. Going back tomorrow for more of the same.

And for those who want the detailed version, here we go. If you’re about to embark on this, I might suggest you read the meager information on the official New York State Juror page for the Bronx. I won’t cover that stuff again below, and you can get a sense of what I knew going into it.

The drive was about 30 minutes from Riverdale, which was not surprising since I took 87. Discounted parking is in the Central Parking Systems lot for the indoor/outdoor mall across from the Bronx Hall of Justice. Jurors are supposed to park on level G1, but I did G2 and no one minded. I think you’re just not supposed to park on the surface level in favor of one of the underground ones. You park yourself, not valet, so this means you can visit the car during the day if you need to. That’s nice. Then you walk through a passageway that takes you through part of the mall to get out. Don’t be one of those people who walks up the “no pedestrians” ramp!

Since my summons was blue, I had duty in the shiny, new, glassy Bronx Hall of Justice. Folks with red summonses went down the street to the more traditional looking Bronx County Courthouse. The first thing when you walk in, of course, is the security check. There are two lines, one for the public and one just for jurors to the right. It’s like the airport but you can keep your shoes and coat on through the metal detector. The line was long but moving, although sometimes got a little stopped up when multiple people in a row beeped going through the metal detector. Here I learned things you can and cannot bring:

• Jury can bring lunch, or any food they want really. Even take-out drinks that don’t go through the xray machines are okay. I was relieved, no fast food for me, whew!
• You can bring your cell phone even if it has a camera, even though the summons says not to. Like the security guy said, “it’s unavoidable these days.”
• Do not bring glass containers. Is this a sporting event?
• I did not encounter the laptop question, but to be safe I might leave it at home.
• People definitely had iPods, as expected.

Once through security we were directed into the hall of jurors, a big, auditorium-style room. There are rows of seats which are sometimes hard to get out of (climbing over people) and have arms so not good for the structurally wide folks. Benches also line the perimeter. There’s a vending machine lounge to the left and a reading room, complete with a handful of books, on the right. Restrooms to the rear. I couldn’t decide if the contemporary architecture and interior design was a relief from the neoclassic and 70′s sterile institutional buildings one usually sees, or if it was straight out of a big brother-type scifi film.

When all was said and done there were definitely 200 or more people in the room (I am bad at estimating crowds). The racial makeup looked about like the Bronx as a whole from what I could tell, and people seemed fairly evenly divided among different ages. There were definitely people in tee shirts, hoodies, jeans.

Nothing happened for a long time, as potential jurors were still going through security. We had to be there at 9, and the first preliminary announcements were made at 9:25. Just some general things determining if people were in the right place. At 9:38 the real deal started. Lots of things were announced, including valid reasons to request not to be there:

• Supposed to be in class during the day (not currently on winter break)
• Not a US citizen
• Felon
• Can prove no longer a resident of the Bronx
• Extenuating child care issue
• Doctor’s note saying specifically must not serve on a jury

Those folks were sent down the road to make their “case” at the courthouse. The rest, we were told, would have to stay. Even people who:

• Claimed not to speak English – apparently a lot of people said this to get out of jury duty. The court would then call their employer, call their house at random, and all sorts of other methods to try to determine if they actually spoke English. They reported that 90% of the people did and were lying, so decided not to waste the time and now this is no longer an excuse. This means, interestingly, that some cases will have actual non-English speakers as jurors. Hmm.
• Have a note from their employer
• Are in school but on break

We followed the instructions on filling out and separating parts of our summons and turned in the relevant parts in baskets at the front. Parking tickets were stamped for a discount. For those wondering, the cheesy introduction video was not shown  even though there were a couple of nice LCD screens in the room. I’m sad, I heard so much about it!

After this there was a lot of waiting. Please, anyone who has jury duty, bring a book or newspaper, your knitting or anything. You are going to be so bored otherwise.

Three cases that were continuing from last week were called before anything else. The first new potential panel was assembled at 11:40. See, lots of waiting! Maybe 6-8 other groups were assembled during the day. I was not one of them. 50 people were called at once. Each time a subgroup of jurors were returned to the pool after a period of questioning (I read about that). Some were called, came back, and got called again later. The guys up in the front calling the names remind me of the banker on Deal or No Deal – the fact that they know the news first and their seriousness.

Lunch was from 12:30-2. I get the feeling that lunch is 1-2, but if they’re fairly sure nothing interesting will happen between 12:30 and 1 we get to leave for lunch early. I ate my healthy-ish food in the main lobby of the building and went for a walk. It was cold, and there were no stores I particularly wanted to visit. The line was long going back into the building.

More groups were assembled in the afternoon, up until a bit after 3. We, those who were not called, were dismissed at 3:30. My guess is that they don’t want to start anything that late in the day. I got about 70 pages of reading done, not bad considering the interruptions. Yay, I don’t read enough usually!

Parking was $13 with the discount, a little steep. They take credit cards, but the attendant I had did not have a pen for me to sign. A bit of a rocky ride home on 87, traffic is always bad because of the GW Bridge.

So, we’re to return tomorrow by 9:30! This time I will be bringing:

• My book
• Lunch (plus a napkin, forgot today)
• My phone and its charger (I did spot some outlets, and knowing how much I’ll want to play on the phone I’ll need that)
• Coffeeeeee!

Come back tomorrow for more tales of jury duty! And some further reading, other people’s experiences: tale of a one-day trial and this more comedic one.

California things I miss already:

• Famima!!
• Lollicup
• Creepy 70′s architecture (yes, it’s a good thing)
• Friends, of course

New York things I missed:

• Dunkin Donuts (wtf, I know)
• New York driving
• My own apartment, especially my internet speed *geeks out*
• Friends, of course

1. Tourists: While I know pictures are great to show the friends and fam back home, you might want to think about not watching the entire fireworks show through a 2×2″ LCD screen. Really, it’s quite an experience just to be there, why not live it?
2. Parents: If your child still requires a stroller we might want to think twice about bringing him or her to the event. It is highly unlikely that children under two will understand the loud noises and bright lights, much less why you’ve decided to mess up his or her sleep schedule for this mayhem.
3. First come, first serve: You want a good spot near the front? Want to have room to spread out the family or your herd of preteen buddies? About 5-6 PM is a good time to arrive, not at 9, 30 minutes before the show starts. If you get there late never fear. Fireworks are high in the sky so even those in the back can see. It’s not necessary to squish yourself into the cracks between the blankets of those who have been camping out for hours.
4. Umbrellas can be weapons: It’s unfortunate that I have to include this one. Why did it have to rain? But when it does, please watch those spiky prongs at the edges of your umbrella. You could take an eye out with those!

I could rant on and on about the other happenings of the night (those who were there with me understand), but for now I’ll leave it at these few constructive tidbits.

(Photo courtesy Flickr user LarimdaME.)