update WHAT blog?

So anyway, no posts in...well...forever. So much for consistency. I owe you all an entry.There have been several recent developments that have (marginally) improved life at XXX including (and probably limited to):

1. Our neighbors (the local bank) have vacated their space and moved to their new building across town
2. DirectTV has finally fixed our damn satellite dish, ending the week's streak of bad DVDs
3. The holidays are rapidly approaching
4. Paul removed a position that had previously extended my time at work by half an hour to an hour plus

For as long as I can remember, EVERYONE has been telling me how important neighbors are: there’s that one commandment, my parents, my neighbors (they might be biased) and let's not forget Mister Rogers. I can't disagree withthis--neighbors are great if you need a friend, a hand or some flour/sugar/butter/whatever. If, however, 95% of your neighbors smoke, appear as though they were cut from the circus for making the freak-show mainstays uncomfortable, infest your home with fruit flies due to a failure to rinse out soda cans in your common kitchen and exhibit various disgusting bathroom behaviors, you aren't going to miss them when they're gone. I can't say that I miss walking through a fog of Marlboro on my way into work, or a fog of...well, never mind...in the WOMEN'S room. I don't miss hearing the XXX men complain about Urinal Dude, who made it a habit of drinking coffee with one hand and doing that peeing thing with the other*, and I don't miss running into the Beauty Queen** every time I walk into the bathroom. These people have not been missed. Our picnic table, on the other hand, has been.

Yes, they stole our picnic table. The weather has been unseasonably warm, and 2 weeks ago, Sean recommended that the traders hold their weekly risk meeting outdoors on account of the warm weather***. Approximately 5 minutes after the crew exited the building they returned, looking equal parts confused and defeated.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO THE PICNIC TABLE?" inquired Sean.

"You mean the picnic table the bank stole?" asked Michael.

"Stole?!? Okay everyone, pack your shit up. We're going to the bank today for the risk meeting."

Everyone laughed, and looked at him in disbelief. Sean has the tendency of being unreasonable once in a while, but this was pushing it even for him.

"Seriously. We're going to go over there for the meeting. Grab your notes, coats, cigars, whatever. We're going on a field trip."

Michael vetoed that idea, indicating that (believe it or not) there is a line between "funny" and "harassment” and promised to steal the beloved benches back from them. He has not done so as of yet. As far as I’m concerned, if it keeps the bathrooms clean and flies away, let them have the table. Their departure has also allowed the demolition of their space to begin. We’re expanding into their area, and each day construction happens, XXX is one day closer to having its very own bathrooms, 2 conference rooms, a putting green and even a GregFat trading pit. Try not to be jealous. You probably have access to a picnic table.

Unfortunately, construction has its pitfalls as well. Like the fire-alarm going off for the first three days. By day 3, no one asked if we should stick around: Sean, Paul and Frankie would stay indoors and trade, and the rest of us left with the football. Even our auditors are in on the game now (although I’m pretty sure their involvement wasn’t voluntary—it was more like Rich chucked the football at one of them, and his options were either 1) get the wind knocked out of him or 2) catch it). So while all of the other tenants are sitting outside obediently waiting to get back into the building, Rich is aiming the football at Katie’s car to see if Greg will let him hit it****. Last Friday, the guys working on the roof decided to uproot our satellite dish which led to the obvious disruption of our television services. I was elated: No more NutriSystem commercials, no more Squawk Box, no more Power Lunch, no more Sylvia. CNBC blasts in my left ear all day long, and as of late, I’ve been combating the incessant chatter with my iPod. God forbid we sit in silence, however, and it took approximately 10 whole minutes before the peace and quiet became overbearing and Frankie popped in the Magnum PI DVDs. We watched Season 2 in its entirety, and if I never see a man who has a porn ‘stache, short shorts and the inability to speak in anything other than a stern, loud tone for the rest of my life, I will die a very happy woman. The theme song (while, admittedly catchy) haunts my nightmares, and this might be related to the fact that Paul hums it intermittently during the day.

Magnum became tiresome, and this was followed by The Time Tunnel. For those of you whom aren’t familiar with the show, don’t familiarize yourself with it. It aired in 1966-67, and basically involves a couple of guys who travel (get lost?) in time, and try to change the course of history (and, from what I was able to gather, they suck at it). Sean forced us to watch the entire season since he had pleasant memories of it from his childhood. If I could use the Time Tunnel to go back to last Friday and bitch-slap the moron who moved our satellite dish, I’d use it. I’d make it a point to leave the two Time Tunnel guys behind though, as I’m sure they’d find some way to prevent me from being able to accomplish my mission. I brought in “Stripes” as a chaser to that series (a welcome change), and Sean stepped out for a few minutes yesterday and came back with “Reefer Madness,” “Mean Girls” and Baywatch. Silence would have been great, but I was greeted this morning with the cheesy theme to Baywatch and observed in horror as the debacle that was Season 1 unfolded before my half-closed eyes. This was the season that actually thought a storyline would be more entertaining to its viewers than nearly-naked women running down the beach in slow-motion. It did teach me a lot of important lessons, like black people don’t go to the beach because they live in the slummy parts of the city, and that Hispanic people are in gangs, but with a little coaching and caring, can be reformed into lifeguards. I wish I was kidding. Believe it or not, despite its obvious cultural sensitivities, it got canceled. It’s a good thing that Hasselhoff insisted on bringing it back. Otherwise, 98% of the world’s population would have missed out on sex education and Hasselhoff would be drunk somewhere. Oh wait, he is.

I never thought I’d be relieved to hear the giggle of the “This is a two! Teehee!” NutriSystem Woman, but I breathed a sigh of relief when television was restored this afternoon. Back to CNBC, and game show network in the afternoons.

The holidays are on their way, and it seems as though all of the guys’ wives are in baking mode in preparation. Both Sean and Dan’s wives have been showcasing their talent in cookie and banana bread form, and God bless them. It’s no wonder Sean’s a big boy. I tend to get stressed out as Christmas approaches, but always look forward to the music, the parties and the general “magical” feel of the season. I’ve always noticed a change in my attitude as well as that of my coworkers, and look forward to enjoying the transformation from work-centric thinking to more of a concern for friends, family and general happiness. These aren’t things that escape my thoughts on a day-to-day basis, but it’s nice have a season that encourages it in everyone else—even those obsessed with soybean rust. I look forward to the Monday following Thanksgiving forward.

As mentioned on #4 at the beginning of the entry, Paul took off the position that kept me at work for what seemed like aeons longer than necessary. This reduction of an hour has had an enormous impact on my attitude, and work has become much more tolerable. I don’t love the job, but getting up and going there has become a little bit easier knowing that I’ll be returning a whole hour earlier. I’ll take any improvement. There’s still the whole issue of figuring out what I want to do next, but if I can pick up a Hawaiian shirt, short shorts, a catchy theme song and start yelling a lot more, the whole private investigator thing might pan out for me. It’s something I’m thinking about.

Today’s main event was a piñata. Technically, it was Eric’s birthday but we all know that office birthdays aren’t really special. They’re something you have to celebrate if you work in an office < style=""> I understand that there isn’t much of a difference here, but anyone who is familiar with my family would not prosecute me for strangling one of them (nor would they prosecute my family for strangling me). Of course, I say this with familial love—unless I’m banished to the basement for Thanksgiving. Anyway, XXX has started doing the whole ice cream cake thing which amuses me since that’s what my former employer (CX) would do for its employees. Unfortunately, I know everyone present in the room now, and if you do the miserable hum thing there’s a 50% chance you’ll get called out on it and a 5% chance you’ll be asked to solo. Still, whoopity-do, it was Eric’s birthday and we were having cake. Beth went to pick it up, and Rich and Greg disappeared as well. Rich returned with a piñata and filler. The two of them performed some piñata pre-op (where do you think we should cut???), grabbed some scissors, cut a hole and filled ‘er up. When I returned to the office from lunch, the dinosaur was hanging from the grid in the ceiling that supports the tiles dangerously close to our printer/copier.

“Hey Rich, it’s obvious that you have no regard for the wellbeing of our printer. Oh, and if Eric actually hits that piñata, there’s a good chance tiles are coming down. Can I expect to be showered with candy, mold AND asbestos?” I asked.

“Agreed, and yes.”

Eric’s wife had taken him out for his birthday lunch and cocktails (cute), so we counted down the minutes until he returned a little tipsy just in time for us to blindfold him, spin him around and give him a few cracks at the piñata. The dino hung, awaiting certain death. The only question was whether it would be by wiffleball bat, baseball bat or putter: Mr. Eric…with the putter…AT THE TRADING DESK! Finally, he showed up, arguably one shade pinker, a fraction of a smile wider. He was whisked into Sean’s office, where a windbreaker was tied around his head, spun around, received a solid silly-stringing and was handed a wiffleball bat. He earned more strikes than the CX softball team before making contact for the first time, but contrary to the CX softball squad, that touch was enough—he wound up and CRACK! In an evolutionary miracle, the triceratops became airborne, and soared across the room. It smacked the wall, sputtered candy, and while a normal group of people would have given in there, Bill decided that this presented an opportunity to complicate the game. He picked the piñata up by the remaining string, extended his arm, and tapped the end of Eric’s bat with it. This game continued for quite a while: Eric would wind up, swing, hit air, and then Bill would tap him on his back. This resulted in Eric’s complete confusion regarding his position in relation in our office space, and he gave the printer a solid beating with the wiffleball bat before someone could intervene and move him back into the middle of the room. Eventually Bill caved, but only after a majority of us were in tears over the whole thing. I NEVER remember piñatas being that much fun as a kid. I’m hoping that on my birthday, they will give Katie handfuls of candy, and give me a blindfold, bat and a good spin or two.

If anyone is curious about any specific office member, drop me a line and I’ll tell you a story. I’ve been lazy lately.

*******************************************************************************
* On one occasion, the office of XXX was in an uproar as Urinal Dude had the nerve (and stomach) to consume a Creamsicle while urinating. I investigated this claim as I was under the impression that most gentlemen entering the men’s room were afraid to breathe, never mind EAT something. I found a box of creamsicles in the community freezer, and spent the rest of my day nauseated.
** The Beauty Queen applied her make-up once an hour on the hour, brushed her hair and had a tendency of leaving her toothbrush on the PUBLIC BATHROOM COUNTER from 9 a.m. until 5 p.m. The XXX women, all well-natured and (usually) kind to strangers, were tempted to do something with it if only because someone stupid enough to leave a toothbrush in that environment sort of has it coming.
*** Not quite warm enough for it to be man-skirt weather, which makes the temperature that much better.

****And he will.

Halloween

Happy Halloween readers!

We got to dress up for work today, and I came as a "Person Who is Really Excited to Come to Work on a Tuesday." Sucks though--can you believe EVERYONE ELSE got the same costume?

Halloween munchkins, "Night of the Living Dead" rather than CNBC...it might be a pretty good day.

Sarah, Kevin and Stapler-Induced Concussions

I may not have acquired a tremendous amount of career-advancing knowledge during my employ (so far) with XXX, so I may as well add these two facts to my "useless, but true...at least at XXX" list:

1. Sarah hates Kevin.

2. Kevin hates Sarah.

The two of them get along about as well as bleach and ammonia. In the event you are unaware (or haven't yet made the mistake), if you mix bleach and ammonia, you will either 1) evacuate the premises or 2) pass out cold. I've heard that you can sustain severe brain damage if you inhale too much chloramine gas, but regardless, BOTH alternatives are preferable to spending more than five minutes with the two of them.

Sarah, to some effect, is "Little Miss Can't be Wrong." I'm not educated enough about the energy markets to attempt to have any sort of meaningful discussion with her, but from what I've observed, if you are bearish energy, you are wrong. Period. The process is similar to telling a kid that Santa Claus isn't real. First, there's the denial. "You're wrong! He's real." If pushed for an explanation as to why, denial is followed by reasoning (typically pointing at some sort of data supporting her position): "Of COURSE he's REAL! Otherwise people wouldn't have written all of those SONGS about him. Why else would people leave cookies out on Christmas Eve?" If she is proven to be wrong, she will acknowledge this, but then blame it on people's failure to recognize the OBVIOUS truth: "Fine, maybe Santa Claus isn't 'real' so to speak, but there are tons of fat men dressed like him which is pretty much the same exact thing. Just ask all of the kids." I won't criticize her behavior; at least she doesn't waver, but I can also understand how frustrating it must be to try to reason with an unreasonable person.

This is probably why Kevin doesn't bother. He has taken a more unprofessional approach, taking as many digs (both relevant and irrelevant) at her as possible. This hostile relationship materialized weeks into her employ with XXX. Again, I believe that her addition to the energy team was a tough one for the boys' club to swallow as she is an intimidating, outspoken alpha woman. I think Kevin and Rich were used to mulling ideas over and agreeing 9 times out of 10, and Sean threw a large wrench--a wrench with boobs, nonetheless!--into their dynamic. I'm sure his original intent was to add new/different ideas into the mix. Sarah is very bright and has many useful contacts, but from a spectator's perspective, this experiment appears to be backfiring. She won't agree to disagree, Kevin won't agree to treat her with respect and Rich has essentially thrown in the towel and avoids confrontation with her directly at all costs.

The traders at XXX meet on a weekly basis to discuss trading ideas, risk metrics, etc. and at one of the first congregations of said meeting, Sarah warned Kevin to back off or to face the wrath of a heavy stapler. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that* as, to this day, I still don't know what Kevin said to have sparked such an inflammatory response. Their mutual dislike has caused a great deal of frustration determining a position, and today a meeting was held on the desk to discuss everyone's sentiment regarding the energy sector. Sarah began her speech, and someone picked up a ball which sparked a game of catch amongst those listening. She made mention that it was somewhat annoying and/or distracting, and I watched annoyed as well. I may not have many important things to say, but if you ask me for my opinion, you'd best be listening. There was a misthrow (probably Greg's fault; he's practically sweating Crisco at this point) that came in my direction, and I confiscated the ball so that Sarah could finish delivering her part in peace.

I thought this would be the end of it.

The group dispersed and went back to their various terminals. Once the trading day came to a close, Greg and Kevin engaged in another game of catch. This is not uncommon around our office: We're preparing ourselves for a career in the minors in the event this whole hedge fund thing doesn't pan out. Back and forth they went. Kevin got up, walked over to Sarah's area, and motioned the whole "I'm ready to catch" thing. Greg wound up, launched it, and the instant the ball left Greg's hands, Kevin walked away from the scene as if he had never been involved with the clear intent of hitting Sarah with the ball "accidentally." By the will of God alone, it didn't hit herand this is a good thing as I'm 99% sure she could (and might) kick the shit out of Kevin. It hit the wall, she gave the stone stare (please refer to Medusa entry back in July) and thankfully, that was the end of it.

Something has got to give. I'm thinking 2 egos, one ring and unlimited blunt-force trauma inducing office supplies: Trader Cage Match. Someone call HBO, and may the best (wo)man win.

At least tomorrow is Tuesday.


* A fly well out of the way of her stapler.

Columbus who?

My feelings toward Columbus Day are most accurately portrayed by Adam Sandler's rendition of "Holiday" in "The Wedding Singer."

The following business cannot spell "Columbus" and has confused the Italian voyager with a brand of yogurt, therefore eliminating the need to celebrate (as said business does not support yogurt or anything else with a fat content of less than 50%):

XXX

The following businesses consider Columbus Day a holiday, and celebrate it by closing their offices:

EVERYONE ELSE

I'd like to waste more time whining about this great injustice but have to rest up seeing as I have work tomorrow. Since most of you have the day off, I'd appreciate it if one of you could make a reservation for Bitter...table for one...and please make sure it's after 6 o'clock.

I definitely have better legs than him...

My friend Jessica has filed a formal complaint regarding my infrequent blogging. During conversation, she demanded reasons as to why I hadn't been posting.

"Nothing's really happened."

"I'm sure SOMETHING happened this week that you haven't written about."

::pause:: "Maybe. Sean wore a skirt to work on Monday."

"A skirt???"

"Yeah, it looked like an athletic skirt. It was black, and reminded me of tear-away pants."

"No, he didn't."

"He sure did."

"All I can think of is Fat Bastard in a kilt. I feel sick."

"That's pretty much what he looked like."

Yes folks, I'd hate to ruin a perfectly good Friday, but Sean wore a skirt to work on Monday. I tried to find a picture to illustrate what, exactly, this thing is but 1) I don't know what the hell it is and 2) when I typed in "athletic kilt" and "sports skirt for men" Google returned no hits and a smartass "surely, you're kidding me" message. Think of the fabric tear-away pants are made out of, except cruelly forced into skirt form. This article was pleatless and solid navy blue rather than plaid. It is probably sold exclusively in sizes XXXL and Good Lord. He sauntered into the office, paused briefly by Beth and mentioned something to her about needing to get as much use out of his summer attire as possible since the weather is changing, and walked over to his desk. She mumbled something in response, but didn't take a good look at him until he walked away. I passed her desk on my way out for a coffee.

"A!" she whispered forcefully. "What the hell IS that thing???"

Nothing surprises me anymore--the skirt had made several appearances in the office, and while it's still an eyesore, it's a less shocking one. As long as the wind doesn't pick up, it's all good. Those 3 monitors might be ruining my eyesight, but even the severest degree of blindness won't spare me from any emotional scars resulting from Sean's "Seven Year Itch" interpretation.

"It's his skirt. You haven't seen it before?"

"His, his WHAT? What did you say?" she stammered, completely horrified.

"His skirt," I replied as I headed toward the door. I heard her mutter, "It's going to be a long fucking Monday," as I exited.

And it was. This isn't to say, however, that there weren't any highlights. The most entertaining moment of the week (unless something phenomenal happens today) occurred when the skirted Sean realized that he had a potential investor meeting and had to make an emergency stop home to grab some pants. Whoops.

I wonder if I'll miss this kind of stuff when I leave.

P.S. The trees en route to work are now wearing polka-dotted beanies. Yes, I doublechecked on the way home to make sure I wasn't mistaken in my morning haze. I feel bad for those evergreens in the same way I feel bad for dogs whose owners insist on parading them around in booties and sweaters. It's hard to be a noble fir when a propeller is whizzing in the breeze.

There are things worse than XXX

Like staying home from work sometimes. I took a day off to bring my ailing kitty to the vet--hardly playing hooky. Note: I need to learn how to be more of a badass. "Sick" days have been few and far between. This is my first one in over a year, and they're good for one thing, if nothing else: They reiterate that daytime television is reason enough to go to work every day (that whole getting a paycheck thing aside). I'm glad I spent a majority of the day in the car as there is NOTHING on television. Rewind. There are plenty of shows on television, but wow. It took five minutes of viewing to realize that there are many things worse than data entry. Many. For example, the Maury Povich show focused on women who can't seem to find the father of their children. We're not talking about deadbeat dads here--we're talking about women who slept with so many men that they can't seem to pinpoint which one could be the dad. Example: One woman, Shawn, has a 3-year-old. In the three years of her son's existence, she hasn't been able to find his father. Why? Because, whoops, she was a prostitute for a bit and there are at least 15 men who could be the baby daddy. She brought a sixth guy to the show to have a paternity test, and surprise, surprise, he is NOT the father. This, naturally, is followed by Shawn making a dramatic exit offstage and wailing, "Hooow could this haaaapen???" in the corner of the green room while XY #6 celebrates. Honey, I think we ALL know how THAT happens, and most women try to limit the can-dad-ites to one--two, if it's a daytime soap opera. Prostitution and paternity testing: both worse than punching trade tickets.

Paternity testing got boring after a while; turns out all of the women were pretty...umm...busy at the time of conception, so their poor kids remained fatherless, and their mothers went back to the drawing board to think of more potential pops. Really, when does humiliation on national television ever get old*? I breezed through the channels, and was offered the following options: The Tyra Banks Show, Malcom in the Middle, Dr. Phil, Al Rojo Vivo, Top Ten Canadian Wildlife, Pokemon, Charmed and Liar Liar. Slim pickings, here...

Malcom in the Middle won until the father went in for career day with his youngest son, and was battered with questions pertaining to his (hated) career:

"So the only reason you like your job is because you won't die in a fire?"
"If you don't like your job and it's so boring, why do you do it???"

Trying to defend your run-of-the-mill job against a bunch of kids who want to be astronauts, police men and lion tamers? Worse than punching trading tickets. Also, my chances of dying in a fire are minimal, unless one of those jackasses puts something metal in the microwave. Those kids have a point.

It didn't take long to realize that Al Rojo Vivo was probably the best option as, if nothing else, at least I wouldn't have a clue what I was in for. I turned off the TV.

Tomorrow, it's back to work. And, as it turns out, it's going to be a short week.

* It's okay--Maury got his. NOTHING--not even 6 failed paternity tests--quite compares to Connie Chung's farewell performance on MSNBC except, maybe, for when I step on my cat's tail. This is best watched with earplugs and an empty stomach: http://youtube.com/watch?v=lAXwT_I1yYM

Bad Gas

Not a whole lot going on in XXX Land.

The latest news in the finance world has centered around another hedge fund, Amaranth, who managed to lose $6B THIS MONTH^ thanks to a natural gas trade gone awry. Way awry, apparently. If I'd known they were giving money away like that, I'd have written them a detailed letter explaining exactly why they should donate some money to the A Fund, but it seems a bit late for that now. I'm not sure what type of risk metrics they had in place that would permit a massive loss like that to occur ("It seemed like a good idea at the time?"), but to say someone dropped the ball would probably qualify as the understatement of the month. I'm certain we'll continue to read and hear all about the high risks associated with hedge fund investments and the need for regulation during the next week or so (along with e.coli infested spinach), but I'm not concerned about my job stability--particularly since Sean seems to be sticking with his diet. We'll never lose that much money because we'll never have that much in the first place, and we tend to be conservative with what we do have.

Anyway, I was reading a bit more into it and found out that Amaranth was founded by a University of Connecticut finance graduate^^, Nick Maounis. For those of you who don't know, UConn is also my alma mater. While it wasn't Maounis's trade that resulted in this "WHOOPS," he must have approved the positions and had knowledge of their potential repercussions. Regardless, God help me if Michael gets his hands on this juicy tidbit: He hates UConn more than I hate the Nutrisystem woman. Or the smell of bacon. Or trade ticket entry.

It goes without saying that it's highly unlikely that this recent "accomplishment" will be showcased alongside the basketball teams' national championship trophies. While Maounis & Co.'s error wasn't illegal, I think it should still be displayed with some of the other UConn blunders. I secretly hope there's a room buried somewhere in the guts of Gampel Pavilion that displays the various arrest records accumulated by the basketball teams (and associated parties):

2006: Andre LaFleur (Asst. Coach); breach of peace
2005: AJ Price / Marcus Williams; The Great Laptop Theft
Antonio Kellogg; criminal attempt to assault a peace* officer, 1st-degree criminal trespass and interfering with an officer, possession of marijuana
2004: Clyde Vaughn (Asst. Coach); solicitation of a prostitute**
2003: Ben Gordon; 3d degree assault and disorderly conduct
Johnnie Selvie; 3d degree assault, threatening, unlawful restraint and breach of peace
Mike Hayes; possession of a controlled substance, possession of a controlled substance with the intent to sell and possession of a controlled substance within 1500 feet of a school
2002: Rashad Anderson; disorderly conduct
2001: Marcus Cox; possession of marijuana
1999: Khalid El-Amin; possession of marijuana***
Doug Wrenn; alleged shoplifting
1998: Antric Klaiber; speeding and drunken driving
1994: Sue Mayo; breach of peace
Rudy Johnson; breach of peace****
1993: Brian Fair; larceny*****

I guess the good news is if a team member has a hard time getting into the NBA, at least prison is a viable option. Despite the Huskies' obvious lack of a squeaky-clean image, I still love that damned team (and I'll take our bad boys over poetry-writing goody two-shoes any day).

Chin up, Maounis--you have Midnight Madness to look forward to, and hey--you and your team aren't the only ones who may need a rebuilding year. U-C-O-N-N, UCONN, UCONN, UCONN!


* What the hell is a "peace officer"?
**Fun Fact: Vaughan entered a plea deal in which the charges would be dismissed if he 1) completed 10 days of community service 2) attended a hygiene class and 3) submitted himself for STD testing.
*** Entering the draft back in 2000 was STILL the stupidest thing he did during his stint at UConn. As for the weed, maybe it's legal in the Ukraine since that's where he's currently playing.
**** They got in a fight. With each other.
*****According to the police report, Fair "admitted stealing the item and admitted it was a stupid thing to do." Please note that he stole a $4.99 piece of electronics. Stupid doesn't quite capture the idiocy involved with something like that.

ARTICLES
^"Amaranth Losses Swell to $6 Billion After Transfer" - Katherine Burton and Justin Baer (Bloomberg), Sept. 21, 2006
^^"Amaranth Transfers All Energy Trades to Third Party" - Katherine Burton and Matthew Leising (Bloomberg), Sept. 20, 2006