I'm Hoping for an Internet Porn Scandal.

That way we can stop pretending that she's a responsible choice.

I mean, what does McCain think? That we'll all say, "Oh, she's just a girl's girl! Look how pretty she is!" And that'll make us overlook the fact that she's basically a Nascar Dad (the scariest voting category) in pumps?

Yes. Yes, I think that's exactly what he's hoping we'll do.

Well no, thank you, you old goat. I'll take the other ticket with pleasure.

This McCain/Lady ticket kind of reminds me of this scenario from the Best Movie Ever.

"We have so much in common; we both love soup and snow peas and talking and not talking."


And seriously, if I hear one more Mormon-Mother-of-Eight say, "Oh, I think she's just great! She seems so relateable!" I'm going to punch her in her heavily made up face. These are the same people who voted for Bubba W Bush because, "I'd like to have him over for BBQ!"

(To whom I say, "Well, you dumbshit, unless you regularly entertain HEADS OF STATE and LEADERS OF THE FREE WORLD in your double-wide at the Whispering Winds trailer park, alllow me to suggest that you might be voting for the WRONG REASONS! I don't care if W can stack 16 Pringles in his mouth at one time and then pound a 40 of King Cobra. That's NOT a quality we should look for in the POTUS.")

Harumph.

Just the same, I'll pass on the ham sandwich.*

A month or so ago, at a lovely outdoor wedding for our dear friend Bill (seen above with his pup, Magic, who was in the wedding - note Bill's new wedding Birks!), I dolled up in my vintage Lilly one-shouldered maxi dress (to die for, and I scored it on ebay for $20!!!) and showed off my tan lines (I know, I know tres gauche!).

(See? That's what I'm saying in this photo. I'm saying, "Oh no! Not the tanlines!")Here's another shot of the dress:
Honey loves a camera.

The darling 'Ber and Brett who I don't see enough. Ber, I miss you so.

Anyway, so we're at this wedding, having a great time, when a woman I know only socially runs up to me and shouts, yes, shouts, "I just figured out who you look like!"

"Oh," I say, wondering if I'm going to regret engaging her, "Who's that?"

"The lady from the Mamas and the Papas!"

"Um..." I hedge, waiting for the punchline. It didn't come. "Um, do you mean Mama Cass?" I was horrified. By now a small crowd had gathered and I was really hoping for an earthquake or moose sighting or something - anything - to change the course of conversation.

"No!" She was still shouting. "Michelle Phillips!'

(You can be damn sure that I looked for the prettiest MP image I could find. I'm THAT vain.)

Oh. OH. That was ok. That was really flattering, actually. In fact, even though I can't really see it, I was totally ok with the comparison, and decided to feel good about myself for the rest of the night.

Then, just a few minutes ago, I was surfing around on "The Look 4 Less," a totally delightful blog, and I saw this:


It's called, "The Mamas and The Papas Dress" - THE MAMAS AND THE PAPAS DRESS! - and it looks remarkably like everything I've been wearing all summer - including the night of the Mamas and Papas comparison. My guess is that it didn't get its name from the wardrobe choices of Michelle Phillips'.....





* For what it's worth, I'm not a fattist, and I am not judging Mama Cass for her size. In fact, she was a beautiful, talented and successful woman. And the story about her choking to death on a ham sandwich was just a cruel rumor.

I'll take one of each, please.

Anthropologie is one of my favorite places to shop, to browse, to get fashion inspiration. Many of you feel the same way about J. Crew, and while I love, love, love its classic looks, the slightly tousled and just-in-from-the-cold feel of Anthropologie is more my style.

That said, its autumn offerings have me sitting here - in running shorts and an old t shirt, trying to work up the motivation to get out there and pound out a few miles - craving cool days and bundling against the wind and layering up and meeting friends for coffee and wearing boots with tall socks and scarves and flouncy skirts.

What can I say? I have a very specific imagination. In fact, the look of Anthro's fall line reminds me of one particular semester in college, when I met my friend, Melissa Mehler (who, ironically, is from Philly, where Anthro is based), and we sat at the coffee shop for hours and hours and ate bagels and told stories and made big plans...).

Anyway, because I swear to god I'm going to try to go running at some point today (since when does it take a crowbar to get me off the couch and into my sneakers? Why have I become so lazy?), here are a few of the pieces I'm adoring right now:

Sweatercoats seem big right now, and I love their hip-and-butt-hiding capability.
This is similar to a cardigan Anthro did last season, but it sold out before it hit the sale rack (sad for cheapo me). Maybe it's a sign....

These are a must...

Yes, please.
Love me some burgandy cords...


And I bet these pants would be super flattering...

Sometimes I Strike a Pose

My friend, the photographer Chris Noble, took these photos of me recently. I'm posting them because my mom will like seeing them (Mom, these are the only one's I've seen so far...), and it's almost her birthday, so I owe it to her.

These photos are from a shoot we did on the White Rim trail (first time Brad and I had been on mountain bikes in years). Chris's son, Wyatt was with us, and he's a badass teenager, so Brad had fun doing jumps and bmx tricks and goofing off while I muttered to myself about controlling my speed and concentrated on keeping the rubber side down. Biking is real damn scary.

Anyway, some photos for Phriday....but wait - I don't know why the color is so weird. Trust me, the real color in the photos is just breathtaking....anyone know why it looks weird here? Hope Chris doesn't see this, but Chris, if you do, please note that I'm stating for the record here that you're a genius with color and the appearance of these photos isn't representative of your style.

Mkay?

Golden Retriever Thursday

Look at my big handsome Arnold!

Ok, now I'm really back. And to prove it, a long and rambling post.

I've noticed a new trend on your blogrolls: time since last post.

This trend makes me nervous, because consistently, while others' updates read 10 minutes ago and 2 hours ago and 1 day ago, mine is more like 10 days ago and a year ago and it's been so long we think she's died.

So, I've been guilted into writing. That's not unusual, though, because it's generally an external force (guilt, deadline, mother, boss) that makes me buckle down and get to work. I'm not a self-starter, though I lie about that in job interviews. I'm not a multi-tasker, either, for what it's worth. And I don’t work well with others, and I don’t “love new challenges.” All lies for the sake of potential new bossman. Hopefully none of you ever want to hire me, because then I’ll have to delete this post.

Anyway, fear (another motivator) of losing my readers has forced me into action (left to my own devices - as you're probably learning - I'm astonishlingly sloth-like).

Also, summer's over, making it time to write. I’ve mentioned before that summer and I aren’t friends, and while that’s mostly because of its oppressive heat and the way I look in shorts (ick), it’s also because summer saps me of motivation. In my mind, I’m still a kid, so summertime is for sleeping late, going to the pool, reading magazines, watching movies and eating ice cream. It’s not – at least, in my confused brain - for working hard, writing thought-provoking blog entries, challenging myself to look hard at my feelings or anything that could/would take effort.

But early dusks and cool evenings are slowly taking over the relentless heat. In the mornings, I pull the quilt around me and sigh, finally comfortable after months of fitful, shallow sleep.

Fall heralds the return of my motivation, my industriousness. Not only do I have energy to make plans, I have the fortitude to follow through, to actually do things.

What am I going to do? I'm going to SEW.

Yep. Sew. Not climb, not hike or run, not train for ski season (though I hope to do a bit of that, too).

I want to make things out of the stacks and stacks of fabric I’m busy collecting. Want to see some of my favorites? (I’m trying to use lots of images because Buttah likes images and, let’s face it, I need to do what I can to retain readers at this point).

The new beautiful things I’m stockpiling:

1. The Yo Yo Elephant pattern, which yields both an adorable and floppy Yo Yo elephant doll as well as a stuffed elephant. All made from scraps and fat quarters.


I love it so and can't wait to make many, many of these for all my friends' new babies (it's like babies are Autumn's hottest accessory or something. Seriously, it's a damn epidemic). I've seen these Yo Yo dolls before, in fair trade catalogs and the like, and part of me feels bad - like by making these myself, I'm neglecting an indigenous woman of a sale of one of her dolls, but the truth is, mine will probably be so funny looking that my friends will buy the originals anyway, so as not to frighten their kids.

2. Alexander Henry's Daybreak fabric.


The beauty of this fabric so overwhelms me that I don't even know what to make out of it. Any suggestions? I think a nightgown could be fun. Or PJ pants. But I'd love to make something more creative, because it's such a unique and captivating print....

3. The lovely Swing Bag from the lovely Amy Butler.


It just seems perfect. Even Arnie thinks so.

4. This Bird Garland or Mobile.

The kind and adorable ladies at Philly's own Spool Sewing (cool name, huh? Their sister store, a knitting boutique, is called Loop) have generously provided this pattern for free on their website; it's so sweet it hurts my teeth, and best of all, you can create the little birds from fabric scraps and fat quarters. Bargain birds.

5. And here's my beautiful and inspirational collection of fabrics. (I hope to someday be a good enough sewer - hmmm, that spelling just doesn't look right... - to do these beautiful pieces justice.)

Brilliant fat quarters:

Pretty toiles and prints (note the Golden Retriever in the first fabric):


Um...more Daybreak in a different colorway (I'm a bit obsessed):

And some elegant embroidered pieces:

I'm so eager for the upcoming three-day weekend - the time of year that marks the end of summer and the return of fall. I'm going to sew, walk the dogs, knit, write, read and watch movies, and I. Cannot. Wait.

How are you celebrating the beginning of autumn? Also, I'd love some suggestions for sewing projects. I'm very much a beginner, but I'd love some ideas....

The Better to Get Fit In.

Patagonia is having an end of summer sale.

If you need anything - climbing and yoga clothes, ski pants, rain jackets, etc. - go here to check out the goods.

There are lots of men's and kids' stuff, too.

Now I'm back for reals.

The Outdoor Retailer trade show was fantastic. I worked hard to "build support" (read: raise ad dollars) for my company, and as I listened, in meetings and in line-for-espresso-smalltalk, to the industry buzz about what we've been doing lately, I felt really proud. People like the site; they like our movies. It seems like they want more of what we have to offer, which has me smiling and psyched about my career.

I saw some wonderful old friends at the show, and got really excited about rock climbing again. I also got pretty psyched about fashion-to-come, thanks to these sheep, who gave me some very cool clothes, via their man, Jason, and Lululemon, which invited me to a design focus group the day before the show. And after OR, I was involved in a photo shoot for Isis, a company that designs clothing for women, so I've been in the mountains for the past two days, wearing next summer's clothes to climb and play and ride my longboard and hop on Tyrolean traverses while my friend, Chris, shot photos. Arnie and Red were with me, too, playing in the water and snuggling into my sleeping bag. It was the easiest money I've ever made, and it was a great way to relax after OR. I'll share photos as I see them.

I'm back at my desk this morning, though, and about to start following up on my OR meetings.

Hope everyone's well, and now that my schedule will be a bit more normal, I'll be around to write more often.

Pictures not Words

I have been trying to write lately, but I think my brain is on summer vacation, even if my body isn't. I've done some very cool things this summer, but when I try to write about them it sounds trite and uninspired. So rather than force something bland, I'll just show you some pictures and apologize for what I can only call "August Brain."

These photos are from the Third Pillar of Dana, which I climbed a few weeks ago with 5 friends. All the photos below were taken by and belong to Kolin Powick, famous (on this blog) for all his beautiful photos of our wedding. You can see more of his stuff on his website. Kolin gets endless props for his photography skills, which he possesses along with climbing skills, guitar skills, snowboarding skills, engineering skills, dog-training skills....he's one of those remarkably capable people that you're always glad to know.

Anyhoo, here are his photographs from our recent day in the Sierra.

On the approach (L to R: Jeff, me and my scar, Brad, Jon, Alex):
Honey...
Go Honey Go!

This is Jeff, "The King," sending the breathtaking final pitch...

And Alex being a wingnut on same:

And here we are heading back out to the car and dinner. Check out the scenery; it was one of the prettiest approaches I've ever done. I kind of felt like Frodo Baggins, and not only because I was a foot shorter than everyone else....

Come on!

To anyone who thinks that Golden Retrievers AREN'T the kindest, gentlest souls on the planet, I give you this:

And the accompanying story.


I've been an awful blogger, but that's just the tip of the disastrous iceberg that has been me lately. More on that later (soon).

I think it has something to do with the fact that it's been in the high 90s and low 100s for like AN ENTIRE FUCKING MONTH. I hate hot weather and want to hide in the freezer section of the grocery store until September. Also, that's where they keep the ice cream, which has become a dietary staple. Disgusting.

I'll be back soon.

For to Read Good

I’m usually reading.

I read in the car, on planes, in bed, in lines for coffee or at the grocery store, at climbing areas between burns....Whatever the situation, I'm usually reading.

I read blogs, magazines and novels, not particularly in that order and never non-fiction unless Brad tricks me into a roadtrip-worthy book-on-cd that sounds like fiction, but turns out to have actually happened (he’s sneaky like that).

The things I read are always uplifting and rarely deal with heavy issues, with the exception of the New Yorker, which I read solely because it allows me, in what I like to call “grad school tones” to say things like, “Oh, did you see that article in the New Yorker about the fortune cookie fortune writer shortage? It’s heartbreaking that such a centuries-old trade is dying with its tradesmen.” (For more on this side of me, see here.)

Lately, though, I’ve read a few books that are worth a mention, by which I mean, “These books were so good that upon their conclusion I put my head down and cried because they were over.”

These weren’t my usual brain-fare, either; these weren’t chick lit novels or websites devoted to finding the Veronique Branquinho tie dye maxi dress Sarah Jessica Parker wore in the Sex and the City movie (which has only recently replaced my quest for the long, patchwork, J. Crew Talitha dress).

Full disclosure: I’m shallow and black-hearted and the search for these, the holy grails of dresses, does, actually, seem like a good and worthy way to spend my time. There. Now that that’s out there, we don’t have to go on pretending otherwise.

I mention these books now in hopes that you’ll rush out the bookstore and buy copies of these gems so that the authors (brilliant and hilarious) will receive fat advances from their publishers, allowing them to continue to churn out the material that delights me so.

(Add “selfish” to “shallow and black-hearted.”)

The first book:

"I Was Told There’d Be Cake," by Sloane Crosley

Wonderful and charming. More than once, while reading this book, I had to stop and put it down so I could throw my head back and laugh and clap my hands in delight. It’s that good. I want to be friends with this woman whose writing is so sharp while so subtle. From all the interviews I’ve read, it sounds like she’s even wonderfuller in real life – like she has that ability, unique to Swedes and hipsters from the East Village, to wear jeans and a black tank top and not look boring.

The second book:

"Possible Side Effects," by Augusten Burroughs

Actually, everything by Augusten Burroughs.

All his work is good. While a little sad at times (his unconventional childhood couldn’t have been easy), he manages to tell the unhappy parts with such a distanced bemusement that it’s not hard to read. One of my favorite parts of “Running With Scissors” (his big hit) is when he talks about how, as a kid, he covered his family’s Golden Retriever, Cream, in aluminum foil, because he “loved shiny things.”

So there you have it: my two-book list for pleasurable reading.

Enjoy.

Today I Thought of Gary Snyder.

Early this morning, Brad and I climbed the Third Pillar of Dana with four dear friends. After waking and quickly drinking one cup of coffee (just barely enough), we left our Tuoloumne Meadows campsite early enough to see steam rising from the creeks.

This five-pitch route features what is widely considered the best 5.10 pitch in the Sierra; it is as close to perfect as anything I’ve ever climbed.

I almost didn’t go. I said that I needed to work, which was only partially true. Actually, I was scared. I was nervous about the approach that the guidebook promised was 2-3 hours. I was afraid of the “loose, steep gulley” that led to the base of the climb. I was nervous about the route itself – about getting lost, about the exposure, about loose rock. I was worried about not being able to keep up with the group, about holding everyone back.

In fact, it was fine. I kept up. The approach took us 90 minutes. The gulley was no big deal, and actually, kind of fun. The routefinding was tricky, but manageable, and the exposure was mild. The day was casual; the climbing stellar, not scary. I found a groove I thought I'd lost. I discovered strengths I'd forgotten about. I remembered that I love the mountains, the experience outweighing the possibility of danger.

And as I sat on a comfortable ledge in the warm Sierra sun and belayed Alex on the second pitch, I thought, "I can’t imagine missing this day."

And it struck me: this place takes patience. The routes wander, the approaches climb gradually. The descents require care, the stream-crossings caution. The Sierra is a place to take things slowly, to reflect, to consider.

Gary Snyder knew that. Here's a representation of his awareness:

Mid-August at Sourdough Mountain Lookout
Down valley a smoke haze
Three days heat, after five days rain
Pitch glows on the fir-cones
Across rocks and meadows
Swarms of new flies.

I cannot remember things I once read
A few friends, but they are in cities.
Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup
Looking down for miles
Through high still air.

Oh, you're still here?

I wonder if anyone's still reading?

I have been lazy about writing lately. It's been hot, I haven't been sleeping well and the more I didn't write, the easier it was to continue not writing, the harder it was to get my thoughts down.

So here I am, checking in and saying, "stay tuned. There's more to come."

It's just that I have to get some exercise right now, and I have to give Arnie a bath because he just rolled in dead fish at the river.

It's totally awesome that he's sleeping on the bed right now, too.

Whodaho

This weekend, Brad and I and some dear friends met in Idaho for some climbing, eating, drinking (thanks, Ian, for the grappa!) and campfires.

We were in the City of Rocks. Here are some photos, courtesy of Nicole (and you're so lucky, because Nicole is a total magician with a camera...check out her site to see how amazing she is).

Here I am with my boys (see my fancy and protective sunshirt? I bought it at a secondhand store for $8. It's like a Hokusai on polyester...):


Here's Brad sending a hard, technical route while the rest of us sat around and waited for him to put the rope up:

Here's Lizzie with the Foxy Moxie (note her pretty polka-dotted collar):

Here are some ponies:
I know I sound like Fletch again ("and here are the dogs who tried to bite me, and this is my rental car...") but I can't help it, because I think Nicole's pictures are so pretty, I want you all to see them.

And one final shot of Idaho. See? It's not all doomsday cults and potatoes. There are rocks there, too:

Caledonia, part II

A couple weekends ago, six friends met in Vail to celebrate the upcoming birth of M’s baby. We used to live near one another in Carbondale, a small mountain town on Colorado’s Western Slope, but jobs and relationships and other plans carried three of us elsewhere. When we all lived in Carbondale, one of us was married and, initially, no one had kids. Now there are two kids (one of them in utero), four marriages, different jobs, new homes. There have been deaths and births and fights and reconciliation. There have been phases (short, dark hair) and trends (skinny jeans) and altered perspectives. There has been - as there will be - lots of change.

I didn’t realize, until this weekend, how much I’ve forgotten about Carbondale. It was a lonely place for me; I felt terribly awkward most of the time. Sitting in that condo in Vail, listening to the gossip and stories about the people and places in that town caused blocked-out memories to flood at a staggering rate. As my friends, one by one, washed their faces and brushed their teeth and went to bed, I grew increasingly uneasy, agitated. All of a sudden it was 3 am and I was astonishingly awake, entrenched in memories I’d worked hard to bury.

Looking back, I see that I made it harder than it really was. I isolated myself; I assumed people wouldn’t accept me so I didn’t give them a chance. I still do that, but now that I live in a bigger town, it’s not so out loud and obvious. Hiding in Salt Lake doesn’t mean cowering in my room, hoping that no one will drive by and see the light on and knock on the door. It means spending time in a different part of town, going to a different café for my americanos, being alone but in the middle of things. It’s still fucked up, but it’s easier to pretend otherwise.

One of my friends mentioned maybe being ready to leave Carbondale. She’s been in that town for years and the whole community would suffer her loss. When asked where she’d go, she named a tiny town in an even more remote location. Just the thought of moving to a town that small had me hyperventilating. It was then that I realized that I love living in a city (technically, I guess, I live in the suburbs, but it’s really, really close to downtown, despite what my husband will tell you). I love that I can choose to see people or not, that I can go for days being totally unknown and anonymous. It makes for better people watching and observing, which I need like I need water and air.

But at what cost? Because all that observing is actually starting to hurt me, I think. A few nights ago, sitting with Brad at the base of a climb I’m working on, I started crying because I felt like everyone I knew would have just climbed the route and moved on, while I was freaking out about it. I was comparing myself to these imagined others whom I’d built up to be larger than life, infallible, far more capable than I. And the truth is, I don’t know that for sure. It’s just something I’ve trained myself to believe, even though I know, somewhere in me, that it’s not true.

After climbing, Brad and I played Boggle with his parents. I stared at the letters as the white Hasbro sand fell through the plastic hourglass, feeling certain that I’d identified every word in the grid.

“Canoe,” announced my mother-in-law, pointing at each letter.

What? Canoe? I’d listed can, cane and one, but I hadn’t seen canoe.

“Batter,” she went on, and though I’d seen bat, tab, brat and bra, I’d missed batter.

The night went on in that vein. The sand ran out and I’d drop my pen, confident that, this time, I’d identified every word. And then Brad and his folks would list word after word that I’d completely overlooked.

Even though I’m wildly competitive when it comes to word games, the night didn’t frustrate me; I just thought it was interesting. How could four people, looking at the exact same letters, see such different words?

And then it hit me like a canoe to the head:

We see what we can.

When I lived in Carbondale, I saw myself as an excluded, awkward oaf, because that’s what I thought I needed to do to protect myself from potential shunning. My friends don't get that, though, and still ask me when I'm going to move back. To them it's Caledonia. To me it's a nightmare. At the base of the climb the other night, I thought about the people I know who say, "Oh, yeah, that's a great route," because they see it as it is, rather than what I've built it up to be.

I’ll never go back to Carbondale – it was just too hard a time for me. I’ll climb that route, though. As soon as I realize that other people have to work at things, too. As soon as I can see that I’m not the only one who struggles from time to time.

I think my Caledonia is a place where I am able to accept my shortcomings so entirely that it won’t knock me over me if other people point them out. Because, as my mom always said, I am pretty hard on myself, and most people – most people – never notice the faults I spend so much time trying to hide.

Sew Hot Right Now

I've been inspired by Cindy and Lisagh and all the other craft-capable ladies in blogland, so I dusted off my sewing machine and have been unfolding and re-folding fabric and unrolling and re-rolling ribbon and looking around helplessly wondering, "where do I start?"

So I'm asking you: where do you go for pattern inspiration? I've looked on the world wide web, and there are some sites that seem pretty helpful, but where do you go for patterns, inspiration, ideas, etc.?

Especially the Mango...

According to delightfully silly yet neatly-coiffed pundit Stephen Colbert, fruit is un-American. I couldn't agree more.

The patriotic tendencies of fruit came under fire when it was revealed that it had recently replaced cookies as the number one snack in America (for kiddos under 6).

As part of his diatribe on fruit and its lack of patriotism, Stephen singled out Cookie Monster for contributing to the cookie’s decline in popularity. Check it out:



There are three famous men whom I admire: Mark Doty, David Sedaris and Stephen Colbert. Oh, well, and Billy Collins makes four. Because Stephen went head to furry blue head Cookie Monster and refused to buy into the newly passed fruit-agenda, he’s currently on top of my list.

Oh the hilarity.

Thursday's Thirteen*

13 Things I Love Today:

1. This picture. Oh, how I love that picture.

2. Attus Apparel. I like this shirt best.

3. Saying "the" before an illness or disease (even though there's nothing funny about illness or
disease), as in, "the gout." It always makes me laugh.

4. Jack Donaghy, because he says things like, "Your hair is your headsuit" and, "Never go with a hippie to a second location."

5. The swimming I get to do with my dogs every single day. Big Cottonwood Creek flows into a reservoir near my house, so every evening after work, the boys and I head over there to chase tennis balls, frisbees, rocks, sticks and, once, an unfortunate duck. (Nothing bad happened to Mister Duck. Arnie just swam around behind him for the better part of 20 minutes. The duck was pissed; he kept looking at Arnie and saying, "QUACK!" And Arnie would just look back to shore like he was saying to me, like, "What is this guy so upset about?") And my favorite part, after swimming, while the boys dry on the patio, their fur goes all punk rock.

Arnie Ramone:
And Red Viscous:
6. My new pilates instructor, who looks exactly like Amy Sedaris. Except less sprinkley.
7. My recently purchased vintage Lilly one-shouldered dress. I can't wait to wear it next week.

8. This book. The most beautiful thing ever ever, and we all have the lovely Erin to thank for telling us about it.

9. How I can go to Barnes & Noble and root through all their magazines for all the titles and contact information I need without anyone bothering me.

10. The ruby throated hummingbird at our feeder right now.

11. This site, which informed me that said hummingbird is probably not a ruby throated. Maybe a bumblebee hummingbird?

12. My Shasta Daisies, which are finally starting to bloom. They make me think of Mount Shasta and the Lemurians, who are probably just looking for pot.

13. It's definitely quilt weather tonight.

*The original name of this post was Thursday's Thirty, but that was too intimidating.