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I know it’s really unpopular to call to the carpet other people’s parenting choices. I know you know I don’t give two shits about what is or is not popular. I will lay out this disclaimer, though: I am not immune to criticism. I make choices that I am ready to defend at all times. I think that’s a healthy way not to follow the lemmings off the cliff. If this post pisses you off enough that you want to have an epic comments throw down, you’re more than welcome, but do me a favor and spare me the “I’ve been a parent for 872 times longer and so I must be right” crap, ok? Kill me with your rapier wit instead.
Moving on …
I have figured out the source of all that is wrong in the world. Why are people so rude and impatient? Why are we so demanding? Why must we have instant gratification?
That’s my buzz word for the day to mean what I really want to call Selfish Parenting. It’s the self-centered need to control all things pregnancy, baby, and child in such a way as to not be uncomfortable, unhappy, or inconvenienced by the process and it’s driving me frickin’ crazy.
Tired of being pregnant? Want to have the baby on a Monday? Unhappy at the prospect of waiting around for a month surrounding your due date unsure as to when the big moment is coming? Scared of your water breaking on your fancy schmancy duvet cover?
Schedule an induction, duh. Who needs nature or biology or a couple million years of historical proof that babies come when they’re supposed to when you could pull our your Franklin planner and squeeze in that baby between the end of your Pilates class and the beginning of the ‘spring busy season’ at The Club?
Afraid of what nursing will do to your breasts? Unhappy at the prospect of being at the beck and call of your newborn every hour of every day from now until his first birthday? Ready for someone else to ‘take over’ the night time responsibilities?
Crack open that “free gift” (by which they really mean “free marketing tool designed to undermine your breastfeeding relationship”) of formula and do it to it. Who cares about nutrition and biology (theme?)? It’s your choice you’ll tell those who look at you critically. You tried and it didn’t work you’ll tell yourself. Let’s be honest, though … you didn’t want to nurse that baby in the first place. Well, you did, until you realized it means you have to be ready to whip out your breasts every minute of every day for the next 52 weeks. It sounds fun and all until you’re 2 weeks in with cracked nipples that haven’t gone 3 hours without someone’s mouth on them. Then it’s no longer convenient.
SIDE BAR: There really are some women who cannot for some physical reason breastfeed their child. I confess that mine will not actually nurse, but be damned she still gets breastmilk because I pump constantly and bottle feed her instead every. single. time. To those of you who cannot breastfeed because your boobs are broken, at ease. I’m not pointing fingers at you. You don’t have to make excuses. It’s the ones with excuses that should check themselves.
So your baby likes to be held. She falls asleep in your arms and you wait and wait and just as you sit her down, she’s awake again (and screaming …). Are you tired of picking her back up 10 minutes after you put her down? Are you ready to ‘get back to normal’ and start some kind of ‘routine’ or ‘schedule’? Does your newborn not know that your time is precious and that you have other things to do than hold her?
Best solution ever? Sleep training. Dude. You put the baby down when you want. It goes to sleep when you want it to so you have plenty of evening time for important things like dishes, Sudoku, and reruns of America’s Next Top Model. You deserve a break, right? The tricky part is when the schedule you want isn’t the one your newborn wants. Eh, no biggie, just let the kid cry. It’ll fall asleep eventually, right?
This of course sets aside relatively important ideas like … oh, newborns cannot manipulate you developmentally. They aren’t smart enough yet to stay awake just to spite you. Oh, and babies are programmed to want security that they can largely only understand as physical closeness. Ooooh, and my favorite … baby brains are not designed to sleep when you want them to. None of that matters, though. You’re ‘training’ them, after all. It must be good for them.
Does your baby insist on eating every 2 hours? Does it eat and eat and eat some days, seemingly trying to consume as much fluid as humanly possible? What in the world does that kid need with that much food when it’s just going to make wet diapers out of it anyway? How on Earth do you get your kid to go longer between meals like you do?
Solids! Yes! Load up that bottle with cereal, puree some avocados, get out the baby spoons. Clearly if it just keeps eating it must need something to make it feel full for longer. Ignore the part where your kid is 4 weeks old. Who cares about the risk of allergies or choking? Toss out the reality that most of the remaining traditional societies as well as your great-great grandmother would think you’re c-r-azy. You don’t have time for feeding this kid all the time. You have important things to do.
All of these relatively popular occurrences point to an ongoing problem on a societal level. We are go-go-go-now-now-now kinds of people. We want to have a perfect pregnancy with a perfect baby who sleeps perfectly and wears cute clothes and never cries long enough for it to stop being adorable and sleeps in a crib in another room so we don’t have to worry about it and who never learns to read radical ass bloggers who say highly unpopular shit in painfully run-on sentences. We don’t want a mess. We don’t want a needy baby. We don’t want to stay in any one developmental stage too long. We don’t want to be compared unfavorably to other moms with other babies. We want the new, the now, the hip. We shrug off the traditional, the practical, and the reality.
Babies are all consuming. They require 100 percent of you 100 percent of the time unless you’re going to ignore some crucial need in favor of your own gain. It’s a trade off you have to be ready for, and before I have to hear all about how I think I’m some kind of badass …
I am an imperfect parent. We all are. I get pissed off when my kid keeps crying and I don’t know why. I resent the 83rd time I have to get out of bed in one 2 hour period when she needs nothing more than a hand on her belly to let her know I’m there. I hate spending 30 minutes out of every 3 hour block attached to a torture device that is slowly destroying my nipples. This does not at all change the fact that I will continue to get up, grow up, and do it every single day without fail. I will not stop because life gets uncomfortable or inconvenient and any person with a parenting ‘technique’ or ‘class’ or ‘manual’ that advocates some new ‘method’ or ‘style’ that suggests I should make MY life easier can piss up a rope.
So, yea. There it is. Call me judgmental, but I’m pretty positive all of this me-me-me craziness is contributing directly to the decline of social grace. Don’t get me wrong, I have about a million other ways the world is going to pot, but this one bothers me the most right now because … 1) it’s very much my life every minute of every day, 2) I’m a highly passionate hippie and 3) I read far too many online parenting communities that are full of Designer Parents all seeking validation from others for their terribly selfish choices (ps, if you have to seek validation for what you’re doing, it’s probably the wrong thing … that need for someone else to tell you it’s ok is your brain telling you not to do it … just sayin’).
I don’t ever want to be one of those parents. I don’t even want to know them, honestly. I should really stop reading their whiny crap online. I’m certain I can find something better to do with my occasional 10 minute breaks.
(Ohhhh, and remember haters, I have the mystical power of the “Delete Comment” button …)
My estimated due date is the day after tomorrow. Right. While I’m still pregnant and not caught up in the feed me! change me! feed me again! cycle of newborn craziness, I thought I’d empty my brain of the random musings I’ve accumulated in the last 39 weeks and 5 days. For your reading pleasure (and to assuage my mild need to number everything …), bullet points.
1. I continue to be tragically unexcitable. I get anxious like a professional, yes, but that anxiety is something entirely different than excitement. I have not been excited this entire pregnancy. I am not excited about delivery. I don’t have some sweet building sense of anticipation about seeing The Squishy in person for the first time. I’m not unexcited by any means. I don’t have a sense of impending doom or dread or disdain. I’m just not dancing in the streets and screaming bloody murder in giddiness. Pregnancy has yet to transform me into some emotionally uncontrolled quintessentially stoked parent-to-be. For this I remain eternally grateful.
2. People who are overly excited about this impending delivery creep me out. No lie. I know that people love us and are happy for us and all that jibbity jabber, but seriously … their excitement is starting to eat at me a little. It’s entirely possible that I am a stone cold bitch who just hates the world (except the part where I don’t really hate much of anything …), but I just.do.NOT.get.it.
3. I am not miserable. At no point have I been anything close to what I would call miserable. I get asked rather constantly these days if I’m “sooooo ready to be done being pregnant” or if I’m “sooooo unhappy and uncomfortable”. The answer is no. It has not ever been yes. I am slightly uncomfortable sometimes, yes. It is not that pleasant to walk around feeling like someone put a size 12 steel toe boot to my crotch repeatedly. I’m slower than usual. I get frustrated with people chastising me for “doing too much”, and then I regularly plan my day around bringing down everything I need from upstairs in one fell swoop so I don’t have to trek the stairs again. I am not, however, “miserable”, and I am certainly not bitching to people constantly about it.
4. Throwing up eventually becomes normal. 6 straight months of puking at least once a day apparently a habit does make. First thought: This sucks. Second thought: So this is why bulimia is so attractive to people. It’s way more fun to puke than not eat.
5. I hate people constantly checking up on me. This has become especially heinous in the last few weeks. Did I have the baby yet? Am I in labor? Do I have any new discharge? Yea. I’m not kidding on that last one. My father asks this regularly and makes me throw up a little in my mouth at the thought of having a conversation about any kind of bodily fluid with anyone, um, ever. I know there are several hundred reasons why people insist on asking questions every 10 minutes, but it’s highly irritating. Next time you’re about to check up on a pregnant friend, stop yourself. Ask how SHE is doing, sure, but stop there. No one needs the Baby Time Line Police interrogating them every 24 hours like perhaps you’ll deliver this kid in your garage and hide it there under straw bales for a few weeks just to spite them.
6. I still feel like I deserve a role in the next Alien movie every time this kid moves. I know it’s supposed to be “beautiful” and “special” and 294 other ooey gooey adjectives, but mostly it just gives me the creeps. Still.
7. The modern obstetrical model is an overly medicalized piece of crap. I feel like I have an entire other post in me for what my opinion on this entails, but suffice it to say … life is far too simple to be made this fucking complicated. The fear-mongering does not help. I promise this is not the last you’ve heard about this.
8. Pregnancy is not a reason to be a demanding, annoying, moody pain in the ass. Nothing really is. So you’re growing a human, yes, kudos. Now please seek out personal validation some other way than by using your current incubator status to be a whine ass who makes unrealistic and unnecessary demands for attention.
9. I’m still not positive what contractions feel like exactly. I hear all about how you’re supposed to feel your abdomen tighten, but … uh … the odds of my uterus being bad ass enough to tighten my not so svelte exterior are pretty damn slim. Is it that crampy feeling? Is it that back achy uncomfortable feeling? Is it something else entirely I have simply not felt yet at all? I remain completely in the dark on this. Someone needs to write “Pregnancy for Fat Girls: A Beginner’s Manual” el pronto.
There are plenty more, friends, but that will have to suffice for tonight. The next time you hear from me I might officially be someone’s mother (how terrifying is that shit?). Or not. I have no idea. It could be tonight. It could be next month. We’ll just have to see what happens …
Deal blogs are a regular part of my life. Since I hate to spend money on um, anything, I use them to find the best deals in town without having to do all the work. For that, I am thankful they exist.
On the other hand, they’re starting to drive me bat shit crazy. There are some deal blogs that everyone knows the name of. They’re popular. People send them bad ass late night emails with sweet insider tips. They’re great blogs to follow to get all the good information. There are other deal blogs that want to be that cool. They aren’t. They just repost everything the other blogs write with a little “thanks link” at the end. Ugh. Do you really think Big Momma Deal Blogger of the Year needs your link love bullshit from your no-name blog so you can copy her posts instead of thinking them up yourself?
Hint: The answer is no.
I don’t even mind posts that link to a bunch of sweet deal posts. Like, “Hey friends, here’s a list of links from this week to stuff other people are doing/finding that I think are cool. Enjoy.” That, I can handle. Reposting every deal or idea or sweet sale from someone else in a post of its own so you can clog my reader with bullshit I don’t need to read because I read the original six frickin’ hours ago is starting to bug the shit out of me. Have an original thought, please, or add a bunch of great links to your sidebar blog roll to give people the what’s up or post one link post, but stop flooding my reader with plagiarism and creativity-less repetition.
Now, you may have a good question in mind here … like, why are these bloggers still in my reader if they’re driving me crazy? A good point. I’m considering just deleting all of them to decrease the annoyance factor, but they have redeeming qualities I still like reading about. Some are local to me, and as such have the low down on local deals that big names won’t cover. Others have additional features I want to read that are unrelated to deal finding. If we could all just play nice and stop with the incessant reposting of other peoples’ shit, this would be much easier.
But with click counts and traffic tickers and SEOs and a gazillion ads and everyone thinking they’re the next great Crystal Paine, I don’t think it’ll happen. To which I say, boo.
1. I have been trying to convince myself that I had not acquired a spring head cold for a week, even through the sniffling and all around awful head cold-ness. I am delusional, apparently. Now I am trying to convince myself that this head cold will not be going to my chest (as is the general outcome of every single head cold I’ve ever had) so I don’t end up with pneumonia next week. Go away, cold.
2. I am trying to be patient with That Boy and his idiosyncrasies and emotions in the aftermath of his grandmother’s (relatively) sudden death. Being sick and being patient are not inherent friends in my world. I’m trying, I swear.
3. This is the week of mysterious injuries. Two nights ago, I cut my hand open in my sleep. Well, I can only assume that’s what happened as it wasn’t cut when I went to bed and it was when I got up. I’m not sure if I was attacked by closet gremlins, the cat, or my night stand. Then today, I woke up with a split lip. I’m going to blame that one on being sick and mouth-breathing my poor lips into desert like conditions, but still. Boo. What does tomorrow hold? A broken leg?
4. There is nothing on TV today worth watching. Sickie pajama wearing Em does not like this revelation.
5. Did you see the news that B-Rock (my favorite president) gets to nominate a replacement for Justice Stevens? Yes! The politics of this scenario were anticipated in the lead up to the last presidential election, and I’m kind of stoked that this president gets to nominate not one, but two justices. Perhaps the Roe balance can shift from a tenuous 5-4 to a much more comfortable 6-3. I could be stoked about that. You may not be. I’m ok with that.
6. Jamie Oliver might be my new best friend. He kind of makes me feel guilty though, for the garbage we do let into our food even though we’re aware that it’s garbage. The take out pizza we’re eating tonight is probably a sweet example (and oh so not GLUTEN free. oops.)
7. Add to the list of stuff that pisses me off: people who blog hop during carnivals like the Ultimate Blog Party and leave comments like “I’ll follow you if you follow me. K Thanks Bye.” Ugh. Stop being so transparent and annoying, people. I know everyone will do anything for traffic (except, well, my lazy ass), but come on. Go visit the blogs that you think are interesting. Leave a comment if you have something to say. Discover people you didn’t know before. That’s all cool. Please don’t just click on every link to annoy the shit out of people with your petty never ending desperate attempts for traffic. If you’re interesting, people will follow you. If they don’t … who cares? /soapbox.
8. I have the spring cleaning bug today. While I’m sick. I’m trying to tell my body it needs to stay very still and fight this stupid cold so I don’t get the death plague, but sitting still gives me lots of time to look around and notice clutter that needs to go or fingerprints on door frames (which I absolutely detest). Le boo. Someone come over and be my spring cleaning sherpa before I go crazy, ok?
9. Best part of Lent being over? Mountain Dew slushies.
10. Worst part of Lent being over? The heartburn I inevitably get from Mountain Dew slushies. Crap. I’m not drinking other pop, though, still, which is rockin’ cool.
What’s going on in your bullet pointed life this week?
Hi there. I’m Em.
(if you’re a regular reader, you’re probably concerned that this is about to turn into the bloggy version of an AA meeting …)
If you’re stumbling here from The Ultimate Blog Party 2010, welcome welcome welcome! I’d love for you to pull up a chair, grab a cup of coffee (or your favorite Irish whiskey … an an Oberon …), and hang out in my little corner of the ever growing blogosphere with me. But … no one likes to party with a stranger, especially a creepy stranger, so let’s talk facts first.
I’m a 20something. I started saying 20something when I could no longer say “early 20s”. I have a whole bunch of quarter life angst about that whole aging thing, and so you’ll have to bear with the non-specifics. I live in community with my adorable husband (a term that even after the forever we’ve been together makes me both ridiculously joyful and squeamish), my mother, my little brother and little brother’s girlfriend. We all live in one big old farmhouse like the sandal wearing hippie I am (and they really aren’t …).
Em is not my real name, and I refer to the husband (Ah! Twice in two sentences!) as That Boy … just so you don’t get confused. That Boy and I have been together just over 9.5 years. The looming decade anniversary makes me nervous … more nervous than 30 … maybe. We don’t have small people yet, but we wouldn’t necessarily mind some showing up soon (That Boy would not admit to saying that outloud, I’m positive).
I work with high school kids for a living. They entertain the snot out of me. I wear sandals from snowmelt to snowfall. I’m a big fan of sustainable living, recycling (because it saves money and the planet), and real food. I’m one of those coupon clipping frugal girls, and I spend a lot of the summer pretending to be a farmer. You should be stoked for all the inane pictures of my little green garden that are coming this summer … brace yourself. I really like ice cream and complaining about things I don’t like on the internet. I’m a bit of a perfectionist, and occasionally a little too lazy to do anything about it.
Average Radical started as a place for me to tell the world stories about the (sometimes bizarre, sometimes hilarious) goings on of my life, rant about what’s wrong with the world, and occasionally complain about my on again off again relationship with GLUTEN (booooo). It’s become a sweet place for me to love on people, talk religion, share the occasional dollar stretching trick or recipe, and trash talk the infamous Britt about our ongoing head to head Battle of the Scales.
I kind of like it here.
I’m hoping you do too. I’m giddy as a school girl when people hang out and comment, so if you’re digging what you’re reading, I’d love for you to party with me anytime. I’m game if you are.
Now, back to that Oberon …
Did you know the UBP involved prizes?! I totally didn’t at first. Yea, I’m that brilliant sometimes. Anywho, you can check out the full list of prizes on 5 Minutes for Mom. Not that I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world, but if I were to go about picking winners, I’d love the Toshiba laptop (um, duh, who wouldn’t?!), the NIV 90 Day Bible, the Jillian Michaels Get Fit Pack (oooooh The Shred, how you scare me), or any of the retail store/Amazon gift cards. Heck, I’d love to win just about anything (I’m not a contest winner historically), but mostly, I’m just happy to party along with the UBP’10. Thanks again for stopping by!
Ok, I know everyone probably has terrible stories about customer service experiences. I’ve had two (really?! TWO?!) just today. Grrrr. Crabby, poorly treated customer Em is not something any company wants. I mean, she could launch a campaign against you or more likely, run off and whine about how she was wronged on the internet or some such.
And here we go …
First stop, VERIZON (hear that, corporate internet scroungers? I’m talking about you …). I have a Blackberry Curve, like every other 20something. It sends texts, lets me read my Google Reader in the car, puts a Google search at my finger tips when trivia challenged in the middle of the grocery store, and keeps me far too technologically connected to the rest of the world. Mostly, I love the darn thing … when it works.
You see, I have a network problem. Sometimes, my phone stops working at random. I’ll save you the gory details, but about the 17th time in a day that I have to soft reset my phone by disassembling the case, pulling the battery, and waiting a hundred years for the stupid thing to reboot, I’m ready to throttle someone. This has been going on for awhile … I’m just kind of a busy (lazy?) person who doesn’t get to things right away.
Today I went to the regular store front to get some help with my problem. First problem: we had to wait 20 minutes for a customer service rep. If the store’s busy, I’m ok with waiting. I’m patient like that. When instead we have to wait because people are dicking around talking and otherwise mismanaging their time, I get irritated. Second problem: the customer service rep that drew the lucky straw to wait on me was approximately 187 years old. At the grocery store, not a problem. Elderly Walgreens cashier? Fine by me. A woman who doesn’t even own a cell phone working at the Verizon store? No bueno. I was suspicious from the beginning. This may make me an asshole for judging on face, but seriously, if I go to the salon I want someone who’s hip to the right now tech/style/procedure, not the AquaNet and hot rollers.
Third problem: the rep totally didn’t know what I was talking about. She couldn’t even look my phone up on the in house computer without help. This may mean she’s new. Still bad news for me. She calls “tech support” by phone from the store. They want to speak to me because they don’t understand what she’s trying to explain to them. Awesome. I drove 20 miles to stand in this store to talk on the phone … which I could probably do from my house in my pajamas. “Tech Support” lady tells me I need to hard reset my phone … as in, wipe every stinkin’ thing off and start again. That sounds like awesome fun, right? She asks if I can back up my phone data so she can “walk me through” the reset. Um … I don’t carry my laptop in my pocket. She tells me she’ll call me at 730pm tonight when I’m at home and we’ll “do it together”. Sweet.
Except she didn’t call. Nice job, Verizon. I also spoke to a manager who repeated herself 162 times, spewing “Yuppie Management Seminar 101” bullshit about how she wanted to “take ownership” and “give me an accountable name” and “remedy this situation to my satisfaction”. Nice. No where did she imply she wanted to fix my damn phone, just pass me off to the ridiculous “tech support” people and then “follow up” to “guarantee” my “satisfaction”. Lame. What happened to the good ole days of Verizon customer service where encounters went like,
“Hey, my phone’s broken.”
“Ok, let me see it. (pause, fumble, push buttons) Yea. It sure is. Let me get you a new phone and replace all your contacts and you’ll be all set.”
Where did THAT customer service go? Why elderly non-cell users and 20something wannabe hipster managers chuck full of BS buzzwords and ZERO action? I am not impressed. AT&T, with their flashy trash talking commercials, is looking better everyday.
So, then, I was watching Jeopardy after a fabulous dinner of Chinese food (which was so not on the menu … ) and my cable kept crapping out. This is not new. We have the crappiest cable ever. It stops working at random times. The picture quality, even post-digital transition is garbage. Sometimes the channels bleed onto one another. It’s great. We’ve had service calls in the past, and the service guys tell me repeatedly that the cables running down the road are so ancient they don’t know how we have cable at all. A block over and we could have Comcast. A couple fewer trees and we could have dish, but nooooooo we’re stuck with CHARTER. Lame.
I logged into their instant chat thing tonight to register my complaint about the random audio/video lags and the sweet diagonal lines across my television and was greeted with the most ridiculous and redundant conversation I’ve ever had. Seriously, I am short brain cells because of it. The grammar was slam-tastic. The repetitiveness of the questions was awesome. The lag time between my answer and the next question was long enough to transmit to a call center on flippin’ Mars. After an HOUR … yes, a whole damn HOUR of complete banality during which I could have been watching the new Criminal Minds (assuming I could see or hear it …), they’re going to send someone to my house. When? A WEEK from now. Awesome. I really love the cable monopoly in this town right now. I can have shitty cable or no cable. That’s not much motivation to the good people at Charter to fix their service and improve the customer service process. Great.
I hate the bureaucrazy (yes, an intentional crazy) of customer service. Why can’t I just have services that work half the time? Why can’t there be people that give a crap about fixing it when they don’t? Are there no ramifications in the market anymore?! Ahhh!
At least I can still kvetch about people on the internet.
Well, that didn’t take long (me ranting on this new bliggity-blog, that is).
So, I was chatting with Britt moments ago after an evening of holiday shopping and hilarious antics (none of which the other shoppers were too entertained by) via AIM. She’s on one side of the state, I’m on the other … no bueno. She alerted me to the sweet event going on in Taylor, MI this weekend … a Drive-Thru Nativity! Apparently, they have a bunch of actors in ‘biblical’ costumes depicting the birth of Jesus, complete with live animals (like what?! really?! donkeys? manatees?), out in some field somewhere that you can drive through in your car and learn about the Christ child.
I’m all about religious freedom, spreading the good word, loving G-d, and eating cookies (which they news release says they’ll have en force), but one part of this little shindig pisses me off. Ok, two parts.
1. Do we really need to DRIVE through a nativity? Can’t we walk? Are we that f’in lazy these days? Do we have no concern at all for the poor planet or the lungs of those who have to stand idly by (waving like Miss America? smiling? in labor with the baby Jesus?) while you creep along in your 2.3 miles per gallon SUV huffing exhaust fumes. Lame.
2. And, most importantly, I take serious issue with them charging $5 damn dollars to get into this nonsense. Is it traditionally cool to make people pay money to learn about the birth of Christ? Would Jesus be alright with this church raking in the cash in his name? I know, I know, churches do it constantly (reason numero uno why capital C church and I are at odds most of the time), but on Christmas?! To make matters worse, they’re selling “VIP” tickets for extra. So, what? You get in the driving line faster? If you have extra money you deserve to wait less time to be in the truth? Come on! This is probably the direct antithesis of the gospel … in fact, yea … directly contrary to that whole ‘the least of us’ thing and the ‘sell all your shit and give your money to the poor’ that the apostles were down with, and the ‘we don’t need money, we have the L-rd’ blah blah blah.
This is the problem with the Church. Too much people being frickin’ greedy and not enough people giving everything they have to make sure people know the power of following Jesus. This is the best time of year to draw more believers, people who are searching for meaning, looking, waiting for someone to invite them, into the Body of Christ. You don’t do that with cover charges and long lines and (I’m sure) rude ass drivers. Total FAIL, New Hope Assembly of G-d, total utter FAIL.
WWJD? Not this. For sure.