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Friday, February 24, 2006

Fun and yet somehow . . . arbitrary

All right, I know we’ve been having altogether too much fun on this grimly irreverent blog this week, but honestly, it’s not my fault.  I’m merely sitting here in my study doing my taxes and getting ready for the momentous month of March (I’ll explain its momentousness next week), and the fun just keeps on coming my way.

Today the fun comes my way thanks to the fine work of Dean Esmay.  To follow the sinuous Trail of Fun, you have to go back to this past Sunday’s post, in which I wrote of Michael Crichton’s meeting with President Bush in 2004.  Allow me, dear readers, to refresh your memory of the final two paragraphs of that post:

Curiously, however, Christian conservatives have also expressed concern.  “The president met with Michael Crichton for an hour and they never discussed the dangers of genetic research?  That’s an outrage,” said the Rev. James Dobson, founder of Focus on the Family.  “While we understand that the president needs to stay informed about global-warming charlatans, sexually predatory women and dangerous talking gorillas, we strongly believe that he should take a stand against scientific research conducted by atheistic madmen.  The president needs to reassure Christians that the Culture of Life® will not be threatened by genetically engineered dinosaurs, human-animal hybrids, or deranged robots with Yul Brynner’s face.”

Toxic, rapidly-reproducing crystalline organisms from outer space could not be reached for comment.

Well, it appears that Mr. Esmay learned about Christians’ objections to the Crichton-Bush Summit, and here’s what he had to say:

Michael Bérubé notes that environmentalists and Christian groups are alarmed that President Bush met and chatted with author Michael Crichton at the White House. I’m not surprised to see some Christian groups unhappy with the President—despite paranoid claims to the contrary, he’s no lock-step fundamentalist and never has been—but I’m amused that some people don’t like the idea that the President might actually think for himself or question scientific authority.

You’re amused?  Perhaps so, Mr. Esmay, but I believe I can assure you that your amusement is but a paltry thing when set next to the richly textured layers of our amusement.

Now, here’s why Dean champions the President’s bold questioning of scientific authority:

because so much science these days is funded by the U.S. government (i.e. the taxpayers) it is outright obscene to suggest that scientists shouldn’t answer to our elected leaders. You do not have a right to demand billions of dollars from U.S. taxpayers, then slap a label on your chest and say, “We are scientists! You are not allowed to question us! Just give us your money and accept whatever we tell you!”

Well said, my boy!  Those stuffed-shirt scientists think they know so much, and just like the media elite, they never stop to ask what real people think.  And no one understands their barbaric jargon anyway!  Just look at the contempt with which they treat ordinary folks who want their tax dollars to fund the Noonan Institute for Empathic Communication with Magic Dolphins, or the Very Scientific Discovery Institute for the Discovery that Adam and Eve Rode Dinosaurs to Church, or, indeed, the Esmay Center for Speculating that AIDS is Caused by Toxic, Rapidly-Reproducing Crystalline Organisms From Outer Space.

No wonder they hate it when the President thinks for himself.  And no wonder Christian groups are also upset with him!

______________

Whew, what a week.  Thanks to all 158,884 of you for choosing me as America’s Worst Professor® in the past 36 hours!  I will strive to be worthy of the honor, and I pledge to you that I will always historicize.

But for now, it’s Friday, and that means it’s time to be Arbitrary.  This week’s post on the mysterious Tristero got me thinking about that famous scene in The Crying of Lot 49 in which Mucho Maas tells his wife Oedipa that he can hear, in the ambient Muzak of a restaurant, seventeen violins . . . one of which has an E string a few cycles sharp.  Mucho, of course, has been getting acquainted with the effects of Dr. Hofmann’s important discovery, and this strictly law-abiding blog does not encourage you to follow in his footsteps.

However, this pointlessly curious blog would like to ask you all to share your Strangest Muzak Experience.  Here’s mine.  Norfolk International Airport, December 1980, “The Ballad of John and Yoko.” I am not making this up.  I wouldn’t know how—after all, it’s not like I’m Thomas Pynchon or Michael Crichton or somebody.

Posted by Michael on 02/24 at 02:33 PM
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Thursday, February 23, 2006

Study finds bias on American campuses

WASHINGTON—A new study has found pervasive bias in American colleges and universities, researchers at the American Enterprise Institute announced today.

“Based on our analysis of professors’ financial contributions to political campaigns,” said AEI Senior Fellow for Bias Karl Zinsmeister, “we conclude that American campuses are basically one-party nations—except that such nations usually have the merit, such as it is, of candor about their ideological monopolies.”

The Zinsmeister study, conducted over ten months at nearly forty universities across the nation, found that in a hypothetical race for the Presidency of the Whole World, professors in the humanities and social sciences would give over six times as much money to Jean-François Lyotard as to Jürgen Habermas.  In some fields, such as English and Comparative Literature, the ratio was over eleven to one.

“These are the definitive findings we’ve been looking for,” said Stanley Rothman, a neutral observer who just happened to be stopping by.  “In the past, liberal professors have complained that our studies of party registration and political affiliation were flawed because they didn’t capture something they called ‘nuance.’ For example, we’d find that eighty percent of the professors in a sociology department were Democrats, and we’d take that to the press, knowing that Howard Kurtz and George Will would jump all over it.  But then it would turn out that among those Democrats, some were ‘symbolic interactionists’ and some were ‘functionalists’ and they’d go on about Durkheim or William Julius Wilson and a whole bunch of things we didn’t know or care about.  The same thing would happen in anthropology and literature and history and philosophy—time after time, we’d find that these sneaky liberals had all kinds of different intellectual commitments and research specialties, and everything got messy and complicated.  But now we’ve got the bastards at last.  These Lyotard-loving liberals can run, but they can’t hide.”

Robert Lichter, a fair and balanced observer of the media, agreed.  “This study is simply devastating,” he said from his office at the Center for the Fair and Balanced Observation of the Media.  “What we see is that professors prefer Lyotardian ‘paralogy’ to Habermasian ‘communicative action’ by a factor of six to one.  This constitutes a nearly universal and yet deeply paradoxical consensus for the Lyotardian claim that consensus is ‘terror.’ And this means, in turn, that American professors support terror, as researchers at the Coulter Institute have shown as well.”

Critics of the AEI study were initially unsure how to respond to the findings.  “The Zinsmeister study is basically a sophisticated form of cherry-picking,” said one irrelevant, nit-picking liberal.  “They’ve focused almost entirely on Lyotard-friendly territory like the University of California at Irvine, and they’ve completely ignored the work of feminist Habermasians like Seyla Benhabib.  This study says more about the biases of the study itself than about American college professors.”

When asked to respond to such criticism, Zinsmeister replied, “I have no idea what this irrelevant, nit-picking liberal is talking about.  All I know is that we’ve found irrefutable evidence of bias.  Again.”

Posted by Michael on 02/23 at 01:06 PM
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Citius, altius, fortius

Even though I love the Koufax Awards dearly, and the good people who host them, I thought I should wait until all the Koufax categories were compiled and announced before saying anything about the nominations this humble and yet relentlessly self-promoting blog has received.  So far, I’ve been entered in the lists for Best Writing, Most Humorous Blog (oh, get out), Most Humorous Post (double get out!), Best Series (for my posts about Jamie, which I really ought to collect into a real series one of these days), Best Blog (hah!  in my dreams—no, actually, not even in my dreams), and (my heart flutters) Best Post, in which I have five nominations.  Actually, four nominations, because one of those nominations is for John McGowan’s soul-harrowing post, “The Rhetorics of Violence.” So here’s a raising of the traditional liberal-elite glass of pinot grigio to John!  Kudos, my friend.

When I started blogging two years ago, it didn’t take me long to realize that the Koufaxes are critical to the self-representation of the left hemisphere of the blogosphere.  They bring attention to all kinds of emergent blogs, particularly in the “Best New Blog” and “Blog Most Deserving of Wider Recognition” categories.  And it’s a sad-but-good commentary on the growth of Left Blogistan that the Koufaxes have lately become too unwieldy for Wampum to handle.  Let me put it this way: in 2002, there were 15,000 blogs.  Now there are almost 30 million.  Four years ago, the medium was dominated by manic libertarians (finally!  a medium of Total Freedom in which I can vent at will!  Truly this is the Paradise of which Robert Heinlein and George Gilder spake!) and manic warbloggers (finally! a medium in which I can rebel against the Forces that Be and pledge my undying devotion to Dear Leader without once acknowledging the contradiction, because blogs move at the speed of incoherent thought!).  Today . . . well, let’s just say that today things are vastly different.  Thousands upon thousands of good liberal-left writers compete for our attention, and the good people at Wampum have their hands full as they sort through all the smart, snappy, craftily-composed blogs whose paws face to the south.  So please, if you can, help them defray the cost of the Koufaxes today. 

But I’m writing tonight about another competition entirely—a competition at once more trivial and more momentous.  Shortly after 9 pm Wednesday evening, in the comments to my previous post, the incorrigible Scott Eric Kaufman informed me that FrontPage.com, the website run by the Person Who Shall Not Be Designated By His First Initial and a Drastic Truncation of His Surname, is conducting an online poll to determine the very worst professor in America.  You may recall that I was outraged, outraged that He Who Shall Not Be Designated had not ranked his “101 or 100 or 102 Most Dangerous Professors” in the order of the danger they pose to the Republic; but now, friends, you and I have a unique opportunity to redress a grave wrong.  Please vote for me as America’s Worst Professor, if you have the time and inclination.  Right now I’m leading Eve Sedgwick by the slimmest of margins, and as you know, I have no Diebold apparatus to fall back upon.  But don’t worry about ballot-stuffing!  This is FrontPage.com, people—a website whose unofficial (and yet universally acknowledged) motto is “Sloppiness R Us.” There are no limits, no limits at all, on the number of votes you can cast from one IP address.  So stop by FrontPage today, and vote for me as America’s Worst Professor.  I thank you, and all that is good and holy thanks you.

And then go back to Wampum, if you would be so kind, and toss them another ten bucks for good measure.  You’ll be glad you did—and America’s Possibly Worst Professor will be glad you did.

Posted by Michael on 02/23 at 12:02 AM
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Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Rambling midweek post with no point at all

Warning:  Harry Potter spoiler alerts for everyone who hasn’t read The Order of the Phoenix and The Half-Blood Prince.

Over the weekend I saw two movies.  With Janet, Brokeback Mountain, which was every bit as good as I’d hoped and better (full review on request, time permitting), and, with Jamie, the Disney dog-hero film Eight Below, which was not nearly so bad as I’d feared.  (If you combine the two films, you get Eight Below Brokeback Mountain, a heartwarming and inspiring tale of gay malamutes and huskies fighting for survival in the Antarctic.) Two dogs die, by the way.  Just so you know.  Jamie, however, is now quite mature enough to handle narrative representations of death, having dealt with the death of Sirius Black in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and (just within the past month) the quite horrifying death of Dumbledore in Half-Blood Prince.

As it happened, Jamie and I saw Eight Below after the cold front had swept through Pennsylvania; it may have been 59 degrees last Thursday (and it was—I wouldn’t lie about such a thing), but when we got out of the movie at 5 on Saturday, it was about 15 degrees, and the wind was brisk and bitter.  “Zip up your puffy jacket,” I told him.  “It’s like the Antarctic out here.”

“It’s not like the Antarctic,” replied Jamie, sensibly enough.

“No, that’s true,” I admitted.  “The Antarctic would be 50 below zero.  It’s not quite that cold in Pennsylvania.”

“Not fifty,” Jamie said.  “Zero.”

“No, fifty below zero,” I repeated, whereupon he said “not fifty, zero,” and this went on for a few rounds before I realized that Jamie wasn’t grasping the concept of temperatures below zero—or the concept of negative numbers in general.  And why should he, I wonder?  Let’s all switch to the Kelvin system now.  It makes no damn sense to have temperature scales that have a zero, then lots of numbers under zero, then an “absolute” zero, as if to say, “OK, we really mean zero this time.” Sure, it would be weird thinking of 300 degrees as a nice warm day (that would be 27 C or 80.6 F), but we’d get used to it.

I was reminded of an exchange I had with Nick when he was almost four, and we lived in wind-swept Illinois.  Our first winter in Champaign, Janet and I cautioned him as we were putting him to bed that it was going to be extremely cold the next day, with a high of five below zero.

Nick was aghast.  “There’s gonna be no world?”

And that memory led me, in turn, to think of a conversation I’d had with Jamie just before putting him to bed one night.  After wishing him sweet dreams, I asked whether he ever had any dreams in which he finds himself flying.

He was near sleep, but the question snapped him to attention.  He raised his head off the pillow, turned to me, and said, chidingly, “Michael!  That’s impossible!”

Which is true, of course.  But not so weird as five below zero.

Posted by Michael on 02/22 at 04:41 PM
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Tuesday, February 21, 2006

We Await Silent Tristero’s Empire

Now that Digby has informed everyone that “Tristero” is in fact the renowned composer Richard Einhorn, and Richard Einhorn has confirmed the fact that he is Tristero, I thought I’d reveal the related fact that Richard Einhorn and Tristero are the same person.

Didn’t see that one coming, did you?  And just wait ‘til we find out that Digby is also Richard Einhorn.

No, that’s probably not true.  I met Richard in New York last week, and over lunch, even after I spiked his San Pellegrino with veritaserum, he told me he still doesn’t know who Digby is, even after guest-blogging at Hullabaloo for months.  But it would be fun to start the rumor that Einhorn is Digby anyway—and it would be fitting, too, because I first met Richard Einhorn through some Wacky and Daffy Postmodern Internets Hijinx eighteen months ago.

Here’s the setup.  First, I wrote this post on September 7, 2004, just after the Republican National Convention, during which I passed myself off for three and a half nights as one of those “I used to be a Democrat, but since 9/11, I’m furious that the Supreme Court took prayer out of the schools” converts.  The occasion of the September 7 post was a characteristically batshit-insane Weekly Standard essay by David Gelernter, in which Gelernter not only complained of Democrats’ “racist hatred of uppity white conservatives, who have developed the cheek to threaten the left’s cultural power,” but also spun out an extended analogy between Iraq and Kitty Genovese, accusing The Left® of ignoring Iraq’s cries for help.  (In an aside, I wrote, “Surely Gelernter remembers the travesties of the early 1980s, when Donald Rumsfeld’s organization, ‘Conservatives for Peace in the Middle East,’ held a candlelight vigil for Saddam’s victims while Jimmy ‘Friend to Thugs’ Carter snuck into Baghdad in a daring pre-dawn mission and gave Saddam caches of chemical weapons while the rest of the left rolled over and went back to sleep.”)

OK, so Mr. Tristero came across this post later that day, and decided it would be really funny to praise my “postmodern” blogging.  So he claimed that I made up both the Gelernter essay and the Weekly Standard website, and closed his reply by saying,

But what a tour de farce! The perfectly faked Weekly Standard site, the pitch-perfect rhetorical parodies, the properly amazed and bemused comments from the “real” Michael Bérubé, blogger. . . . For a while there, I was totally sucked in. I really thought Gelernter had actually gone completely off his rocker.

Goddamn, I thought to myself at the time.  This guy’s even more convoluted and pomo than I am!  Hey . . . maybe that’s why his name is Tristero! 

So there was nothing I could do but play along.  I followed up with a post in which I “admitted” that the David Gelernter essay was a hoax:

OK, so Tristero nailed me.  No hallowed skein of stars can ward, I trow, who’s once been set his tryst with Tristero!  But, dear readers, even though I know some of you are tired of finding layer after layer of annoying postmodern irony on this humble blog, I confess that I really thought I could pull this one off with impunity. . . .  So with a little help from my English Department colleague Charles Kinbote, I downloaded the Eystein Reality Generator, an open-source device that tinges any website simulacrum with an eerie pale fire, and put together my elaborate Weekly Standard parody in the course of an afternoon.

And I would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids and your weird “Don’t Ever Antagonize The Horn” cult!!!

Then I complained that Tristero’s discovery had set the Weekly Standard’s attorneys on me, and that I’d received a “cease and desist” letter from the legal firm of Warpe, Wistfull, Kubitschek and McMingus, signed by somebody named Metzger.

Well, by this point people were plenty confused—even my friends and regular readers.  One commenter, under the nom de web Lowlife, wrote in:

I believed your original post.  When Tristero (whose blog is daily fare at Chez LowLife) revealed the fake I believed his post.  Now, with this post, I am convinced that Tristero was wrong and the original was right and true.  I’ll never trust you again.  I will, however, continue to read you everyday.

And Chris Robinson wrote,

This is better than “The Crying Game.” Camera pans downward to reveal Tristero is Michael Berube who is really David Gelernter who is, of course (and we discerning readers should have seen it all along) Karl Rove. Hopefully the real Berube, duct taped to a radiator in a dark closet, will escape in time to save us all from this right wing, android-driven, conspiracy. Let us pray.

Folks, I’d had me some fun with the Internets before, but until then, I never realized that blogs could be so infinitely recursive in a loopy Borgesian kinda way.  And I owe it all to Richard Einhorn.

More seriously, that encounter introduced me to a great contemporary composer, whose work will shortly be included in David Horowitz’s forthcoming book, The 101 Most Dangerous Classical Composers in America Today.  Last May, I had the chance to attend a performance of his 1994 masterwork, Voices of Light, which he wrote in response to (and as a score or parallel text for) Carl Dreyer’s stunning 1928 film, The Passion of Joan of Arc.  I filed my review the next day, and demanded that all of you buy the DVD of Joan / Voices without delay.  Over the past nine months, I’ve noticed that a couple of you have delayed.  Stop delaying now.

Funny thing is (and I mean this in a completely unpostmodern kind of way), I was just re-watching Joan / Voices the other week, and I confirmed something I wasn’t quite sure of at first.  As I mentioned last May, I was struck by the violin solo two-thirds of the way through, which stands in such stark contrast to the more overpowering moments of the piece.  The vulnerability and tenuousness of that solo—at least up to the 1:30 mark (it’s right here in my personal stereo)—make perfect sense, because Joan is alone and defeated, having just signed her confession under great duress.  But then something strange happens: the music, which up to that point has been largely appropriate to the period (medieval chant, the first fumblings at polyphony, motets; the libretto is composed of texts written by female mystics of the period as well as the letters Joan dictated, all of which are sung in the original languages—Latin, Old and Middle French, Italian), gets wildly and weirdly anachronistic.  Just as Joan realizes that she’s made a terrible mistake, just when she decides to recant her confession and go to her death at the stake, the violin strikes a strained, dissonant chord, and then proceeds into the kind of impressionistic fury that won’t be heard in Western classical music until the nineteenth century.

It’s as if Einhorn is marking this moment as distinctly and indelibly modern, a moment of individual subjectivity that cannot be captured by the musical modes available at the time.  Now, the entire composition of Voices of Light is the work of genius, but this little musical frame-breaking strikes me as extra extra genius.

Of course, Joan’s antinomianism is at once heroic and fateful: one strand of it leads to the Reformation, and from the Reformation eventually to the Enlightenment; another strand leads to the belief that individuals can receive direct revelation from God, and gives us the American tradition that runs from Anne Hutchinson to Joseph Smith to David Koresh.  All the more appropriate, then, that her moment of martyrdom be marked by such a wrenching and multivalent chord.

So go buy the DVD already.  And let’s thank Richard Ein– er, I mean, Tristero– for all his fine work as a dangerous composer and a dangerous blogger.

Posted by Michael on 02/21 at 02:22 PM
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Monday, February 20, 2006

A matter of principle

Learned scholar and public intellectual Dr. Mike Adams visited Penn State last week, hosted by the Young Americans for Freedom, and he was apparently a big hit.  I didn’t attend his talk, because it was kind of nice outside that evening and I wanted to spend some time with the blast-ended skrewts in my back yard.  I assumed that it would be standard fare, and when I heard that the talk included a complaint about The Vagina Monologues (Dr. Adams feels that the play demeans women, and as a tireless fighter for women’s rights, he considers it a setback to his cause), I wasn’t surprised.  But I also noticed in the next day’s paper that Adams had had some curious things to say about the Stalinist gulag that is Penn State:

“Penn State has an unconstitutional speech code, and something has to be done about it,” he said. “If you reach a public university’s funding, you will be amazed at what you can accomplish.”

Let me take the second remark first.  If you “reach” Penn State’s funding, you actually won’t be amazed at what you can accomplish.  I’ve said it before, but I don’t mind saying it again: twenty years ago, forty-five percent of Penn State’s budget was provided by public funds, and in-state tuition was $2562.  Our level of state support is now down to ten percent, and in-state tuition is $11,508.  So you could say that students who ask their state legislators to cut Penn State’s budget because of the campus “speech code” are basically cutting off their noses to spite their faces, except that you’d have to acknowledge that we’re talking about some really tiny noses.

Besides, what’s really stunning is the “unconstitutional speech code” remark itself.  For in reality, dear reality-based friends, Penn State doesn’t have a speech code.  It has the “Penn State Principles,” which are mailed to all entering students.  Here they are:

I will respect the dignity of all individuals within the Penn State community;

I will practice academic integrity;

I will demonstrate social and personal responsibility;

I will be responsible for my own academic progress and agree to comply with all University policies.

That’s about it.  Play nice, don’t cheat, don’t get drunk and break things, and meet your graduation requirements.  It’s really not too much to ask.  The full version is available on the Penn State website, in .pdf format.

But you can already see why these principles would be controversial in some quarters.  No one, to my knowledge, complains about principles two through four, but the first one—well, for conservatarians of a certain stripe, it’s right up there with the work of the Gang of Four (no, not the band):

The University is committed to creating and maintaining an educational environment that respects the right of all individuals to participate fully in the community.  Actions motivated by hate, prejudice, or intolerance violate this principle.  I will not engage in any behaviors that compromise or demean the dignity of individuals or groups, including intimidation, stalking, harassment, discrimination, taunting, ridiculing, insulting, or acts of violence.  I will demonstrate respect for others by striving to learn from differences between people, ideas, and opinions and by avoiding behaviors that inhibit the ability of other community members to feel safe or welcome as they pursue their academic goals.

This principle clearly violates Article II, section II of the U.S. Constitution, which stipulates, in relevant part, that the President “shall have Power, by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, to stalk and harass Individuals and Groups, provided two thirds of the Senators present concur; and he shall take care, by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, to taunt, ridicule, and insult whichever Individuals and Groups he so chuses.” Therefore, as Constitutional scholar Dr. Mike Adams has pointed out, it is unconstitutional.

Worse still, this Penn State Principle violates some individuals’ “natural law” right to compromise or demean the dignity of others, and in that sense it is profoundly self-contradictory, insofar as it clearly compromises the dignity of individuals and groups whose very purpose it is to compromise the dignity of other individuals and groups.

Now, seriously, folks, you know I’m opposed to campus speech codes, and opposed to the various kangaroo (or water-buffalo) courts that sprung up around them.  But this isn’t a speech code.  It’s just a document that says, “here are some basic ground rules for civility; while you’re here, we expect you to be civil to one another.” It doesn’t have an enforcement apparatus; there are no black helicopters scanning the Penn State campuses for hate criminals and roving gangs of insulters.  It’s just . . . um, just a statement of principles.  Like it says.

And yet, in one very wingnutty wing of the persecuted-campus-conservative movement, this document is taken as Exhibit A of everything that’s wrong with academe.  I’ve had a few exchanges with that wing, as you know, and when it comes to Penn State’s so-called “speech code,” the conversation tends to go something like this:

Me: Have a nice day!

Very wingnutty winger: Don’t you tell me what kind of day to have!  You are violating my rights!

So just for future reference, whenever someone talks about Penn State’s “speech code,” you know you’re in the presence of Advanced Wingnuttery.  And if you hear someone talking about Penn State’s “unconstitutional speech code,” kneel and bow your head!  You are in the presence of a member of the Royal Family of Wingnuttia.

Addendum: readers who click on the magic Internets hyperlink marked by the words “tireless fighter for women’s rights,” near the top of this post, will discover in short order why Dr. Adams would be so offended by the Penn State Principles.  Here’s the first paragraph of Dr. Adams’ long-running series, “Why I Don’t Take Feminists Seriously”:

Dear Daisy:

First of all, let me tell you how thrilled I am to receive hate mail from a feminist named “Daisy.” I can’t think of many names—with the possible exceptions of Coco, Mercedes, and Jasmine—that could make you sound less like a feminist and more like a stripper in a club that offers two-dollar table dances.

Daisy? I mean, I get Coco and Mercedes and Jasmine: some people might think immediately of Coco Fusco or Mercedes Ruehl or Jasmine Guy, and some people might think immediately of strippers in cheap clubs.  I guess it takes all kinds to make a world!  But Daisy?  How odd.  I suppose it all depends on whether you’re thinking about Daisy Miller, Daisy Buchanan, or Daisy Fuentes.

Posted by Michael on 02/20 at 02:53 PM
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