Top 5 best memories...of 2001.

1) My BSB concert in June.

I shared a semi awe-inspiring moment of my own… AJ (my favorite) looked so, so fine...so...good...I don’t know so…there. I had seen him a million times before, on TV, during their interviews, in close-up pictures by fans, Geez! I just saw him in concert in January, now didn’t I? But this was beyond that, he was fine…and happy, prancing around the stage with a mischievous smirk on his face, (it didn’t help that a lady felt the need to toss her bra at him neither) but he looked content with himself, with the people there, with life. The worst bit is that as they made their way on the ramp, he thoroughly refused to look my way, and just gave my side of the hall quick routine glances, nodding like a Lieutenant to his squadron, (*sighs*) and the person that did look my way was Nick, and for some strange reason, he kept staring at a girl that was right in front of me, I know it was her, I am not going to kid myself and say it was me he was looking at, it was her or someone with her, I guess, but in the process once I caught a dead on look into his baby blue eyes, I just had to hold up my camera, normally I would be acting all philosophical and would say, “let me save this moment in my head, treasure it, savor it, hold it in my mind’s eye…who needs pictures,” but this time I knew if I didn’t have any memorabilia of it whatsoever, it would fade even from my memory... it was a beautiful moment…one that I wanted to relive every single time I looked at the picture. I am not saying I fell in love or anything that dramatic…it was just one of those blissful, lets-keep-life-this-way-stop-time-from-moving-totally moments. A wonderful uplifting moment, so great, so endearing, that it was better than a sexual orgasm (*winks*) And sadly, it had to stop…and I had to unfortunately make a sudden transitional descent into reality…a transition that saw me fall into a pith of depression…a deep pith so much that I ended up bawling my eyes out and humming, “Yes, I Will” to myself in my sleep now and again. Sighs!!

2) My brother's visit in July:

My brother came to visit on the 19^th. It was amazing, for the first time my family, every single one of my family was together in the same room, eating at the same table, and laughing face to face at the same jokes, you can never appreciate how wonderful that feels until you stay away from each other for so long…and since it had been so long since we shared such simple joys that some families have and overlook, I was thoroughly smitten by it all. It was overwhelming almost to the point of bringing me to tears. I just kept mum and absorbed it all, and thanked God silently for the moments, simple moments that I can call mine. I didn’t take a picture this time, but I somehow believe that moment would reign onwards forever in my memory.

So everyday, that you share with a loved one, with a member of your family, with yourself doing something you might not think is important, or something big, but might mean something a hell of a lot to someone else, you should treat that day special and savor that moment as a memorable occasion cos life gives us so very few of those…and I am glad it gave me mine.

3) The strength I gained from AJ's decision to admit himself into rehab

Like Maya Angelou, the great poet once said: (a quote that inspired one episode of my series, Speed) that the youths of today are relying so much on their teen pop stars as icons instead of other great people in the community who have achieved more and done more for them. And honestly, now that I look at it, I cannot find fault in that statement.

These people never said they were striving to be role models. They are just musicians or as my cynic brother-in-law once said when he drove me home from a BSB concert, “They are salesmen that can sing”. They are people who bring good music to you, and with good music comes so many other things, like love, sunshine, brightness, happiness, joyful sorrow, compensation for loss, so many other wonderful emotions are exhaled when we hear or enjoy good music. So the age of reverence of teen pop stars should die now, and we should clean out the soot from our eyes and accept them as normal human beings capable of having faults, bad habits, recording bad albums etc.

Personally, I think the fact that AJ faltered makes more sense to me, and anyone in his business that would stand and say, that they have no vices and that they have stayed clean and sober, and perfect…is saying total bullshit cos that business is too crazy not to have addictions even simple things like sex are considered addictions…so there. I don’t love him less because of his problems, in fact I don’t think I even loved him at all at first (admiring someone from afar isn’t love, I know that for sure), but now that I know that he has this and is no different from me…makes me love him even more. And more so, his pals for having the balls to tell us with a bold face concealing not an iota of detail…I don’t care what anyone says those are mighty balls at work there and I would love the others even more if I heard they all went to rehab, but that’s just me. Tupac is still revered the world over. His records are still selling millions and everyone knows how much of a “thug for life” he was, so this AJ in rehab thing is just mere icing on the cake. As my fellow black people would say, “he has become rougher and thugger, and so we dig him more.” And I second that.

So AJ, hang in there. The first few days might be shaky I admit…I gave up some shots of liquor when he first went in just to empathize. I painted my fingernails black like his and I decided to let my hair grow out in a “fro, (that was my own personal decision, inspiration for that was probably my fan-fic character Shelia and Jill Scott, and I wanted to identify with my African roots…yeah, I can see you laughing at that) and to tell you the truth, I could only make it past 2 days without drinking, the next few had me staying awake until odd hours. But I am trying, if he is trying, then so will I. Just so I can understand that it might eventually escalate to a problem for me, which I wouldn’t want it to.

   

4)  My Vacations, Savannah and Chattanooga vacations.

5) My Best friend's visit in February.

My best friend who was supposed to come in January decided to schedule her trip to fall into the Sweet November weekend, Valentine’s Day weekend. We decided to have a blast one way or another, two dateless budding young ladies, feeding their obsessions on hunky movie stars (my friend’s personal favorite is Freddie Prinze Jnr) what could be more exciting than that. She picked me up on Saturday morning and we went together to grab the little fun that could be out there.

Well, it was fun what can I say, it's more upsetting when you come back to reality because it was one of those escapism weekends you didn't want to end.

Well, what did we do: we went to the mall, did some lingerie shopping at Victoria's secrets, and the CD store to stack up on my CD collection, and then picked out a birthday present for my sister. Hours later, we visited some relatives, played catch up on news on the people back home, took some pictures, and had spare time to call home too. Afterwards, it was dinner at Red Lobster of which we had to wait a whole hour for seats and everybody stared at us cos there were 4 whole girls without a single man between them but we didn't really care. Then we went home around 1 am bursting like cats who just swallowed oversize rats.

The next day we went to church for which I started to make passes at the handsome priest, (don’t ask why, he was handsome and I was in the goofy mood, enough said) and then we went for brunch at a local Chinese restaurant. We came home to change and watched some old home videos, just to set off Keanu hunting later in the evening a la Sweet November. We ogled and snickered at the back row of the theatre all through the movie, imagining what life would be like with a man like he, who doesn’t? I am quite sure that the old folk beside us might have thought the same thoughts too, only they were too engrossed in trying to figure out what the movie was about half the time to mutter a word of protest to our noise. Hence, we throttled home saddened and love struck by his presence---the film has that effect on you.

Then the high point happened on Sunday evening, when we went to a comedy club of which we got thrown out because we were improperly dressed in jeans and sweats, that didn’t matter because the jokes weren’t that funny either, and all the other “properly dressed” women were too busy checking us out, like we were about to steal their men. Then, we came home to a late dinner snack and discussed boys some more while we watched Autumn in New York.

That was basically it: 3 young ladies discussing men, (we are not that shallow we did talk about our future every now and again but I find that discussing the future can be so depressing and morbid especially when your primary aim is to relax) taking pictures, lots of pictures (my friend loves to take photos), and gossiping about every artist under the sun, and how much we would like to hang with them or just be them, if only for a day. It was groovy.

Top 5 extracts from stories I wrote this year.

1) Conversations with a Stranger

She turned back to him, to the young man she had been sitting with all afternoon. He is so young, she thought. She couldn’t quite remember how old the papers said he was, but she could remember he was reasonably young but mature. “How old are you again?” she bravely asked. 

He scrunched his nose for a second, “I’m 21, 22 in a bit.” 

“How much of a bit?” Stef asked like an older sister.

He laughed mischievously, “Okay, you caught me - in roughly five months,” he confessed. 

“Oh, well it’s a bit. A long bit, but still a bit, depending on how you look at it. I’m 27. That’s pretty steep, isn’t it?” 

“Not really.” He pursed his lips to the side in contemplation. “I’ve been with older women before. Well, just a bit older.” 

“Knowing your bits, that’ll be like my age, right?” 

“A little less than your age. Four years older is the highest I’ve ever gone for. You can’t help it, all the guys hang around with older women, a girl my age would just get lost in the program.” He scratched his neck in thought. 

Pretty lady, I knew she was older, he thought. But it makes her more attractive though, the fact that she knows more about life than I do, and is so intuitive about everything. I can deal with that, he assured himself.

“What’s the most fascinating thing you find in a woman?” Stef asked, since they were on the gender preference topic. 

He thought for a second. “A lot. Her smile for one has to say a lot to me. She has to be someone that can send a million messages with just one smile.” 

“She has to be beautiful…” Stef hinted. 

“Not necessarily. Good to look at, but not beautiful. If I want beautiful, I date a model. And personally, I have. The relationship can’t go past sex, boring sex but good sex either way.” 

Stef was put aback with his frankness. “Wow!” she kept on exclaiming. 

“I’m a superstar,” he boasted. “Women come a dime a dozen to people like us.” 

“But you have to pick and choose the good ones from the crap or as you say ‘good boring sexy’ ones?” 

“Yeah, and it’s such a tough job,” he joked. “But someone has to do it.” 

“How do you handle groupies?” 

“We have bodyguards and dancers and stuff who keep them occupied.” He boasted unknowingly. 

“What if you like one?” 

“Rarely happens,” he brushed off. “Most times, we do them the courtesy of going out to dinner or something, just so they can go back home happy that they ‘mingled’ with us, but apart from that they are just the same ole ‘boring sexy women’ to all of us,” he explained, clearly and concisely driving his point home. The women had played an important role in their careers, and no matter how they tried to deny it the women were the only ones who really cared for their music, as fans and as admirers so they always did their best to be nice and courteous to them. 

“I’m sorry, did I upset you with my statement?” he asked Stef when he noticed her face downcast. 

“No, I’m not upset.” The waiter dropped off their jug of water with some ice cubes and two glasses. She instantly poured herself a glass, and gulped down its contents thirstily. She let out a refreshed sigh when she was done. “That was what was wrong with me. When I’m thirsty I turn to a grouchy confused woman.” She turned back to face him after she had drowned out her second glass of water. “Okay, how do you handle the ‘boxer/briefs’ question?” 

He laughed. “Ahh, that all-important question. Funny, no matter how many times we answer that question so many people still want to know the answer as if it would possibly have changed within the time frame between interview. ‘One caller asks: Boxers or Briefs?’” he mimicked an interviewer’s voice. 

Stef was amused. She never realized this side of the artists life, the cynic irritable side. She knew that the question was annoying to her but they often reacted like it was second nature so she assumed they might have been enjoying the attention, the morbid attention. She thought wrong. “What is it then, boxers or briefs?” she teased, like she was opening an already itching wound. 

He gave her an angry face again, that angry sex face that Stef saw he was accustomed to pull whenever he heard a question or intended to make a remark that might not be so pleasing to the average young lady. “It’s briefs, but at times it’s neither. You know, I just let the dingy dangle freely without a hook.” he joked. 

2) My Love where art thou...

He stood over the desk glancing through the magazine cutouts, nodding in comprehension. “Hmm, but some of this stuff doesn’t apply to me anymore. A lot can happen to a guy when he’s on his own,” he muttered.

“So fill me up on what’s new?”

“Like what?” their eyes met with this question.

“I don’t know anything.” Shelia looked away from the stare of his kind dark eyes.  She shut her eyes and swallowed hard. “Do you still see your old band members, are you guys in talks to come back together, if you could arrange it what would you do, do you miss them…oh, and this one here,” holding up a piece of paper, “It mentions your girlfriend of 3 years who toured with you guys, are you and her still together?” Shelia yapped like a rooster.

“All these questions…” he sat down, this time on the bed opposite Shelia’s desk. Folded his arms and urged, “Okay, where do I start?” he bit at his lower lip in thought, his eyes dancing around the room, searching for the right answer. “I miss them, I do. We were like blood. How can you not miss guys you’ve worked with like forever? You do. I would like us to get back together just so we can prove that we did it besides all odds, you know…ever get that kinda feeling? He squinted at Shelia for a confirmation of some kind of his random thoughts.  She stared back at him with full concentration, too mesmerized to offset his soul searching. 

"What kind of feelings?" She asked, tapping into the core of his psyche some more.

“The feelings…like you just have to succeed to make other people look bad.”

“Yeah, yeah I do.” Shelia nodded. She was seeing a different side to Alex, a warmer, more compassionate side. He must have built a tough skin to mask his true emotional gentle side.

“What is this, Jill Scott?” he asked, referring to the music playing softly in the background, he stopped after this, and perked up his ears at the smooth voice coming from Shelia’s speakers. Shelia nodded in response, astonished he knew who the artist was. “She’s great, I love her songs, very poetic,” Alex added, nodding unconsciously to the thumping jazzy beat of the bass guitar.

“Yeah, she is. Neo-soul goddess of love. Groovy and funky to me.” Shelia beamed, enthused about her taste in music, which Keanu due to her influence had been, forced to adhere to.

“She says” Alex began, “This morning my man exclusively introduced me to some extra good loving, he was licking and suckin' on every thing just the way he should.” Alex drifted into the lyrics, reciting them just as sensually as they had been sung.

“We laid there sweaty and sex funky, happy as we wanna be lovin' me and my man exclusively.” Shelia finished off the rest of the lyrics, laughing at her accuracy.

They both laughed like two strangers striking an accord for the first time, amused at their accuracy of the sensual provocative lyrics of the song, enticed that they had finally found some solid ground in their diverse taste in music.

Shelia got up, heavily, clutching her back in pain. “I need a drink.”

“You know what you need is a massage,” he offered. Shelia gave him a warning look. “Oh, no not from me, from the spa. They have an all night masseuse. We could go down there together, use the steam room, soak in the hot tub. It would help on your back.”

“I don’t know, me naked in front of those masseuse guys, he’ll probably have a seizure with my body and I’ll probably tear him apart too with his hunky self,” Shelia joked, stretching her body tall.

“Why come, you have a beautiful body,” he pitched, so direct he sent the correct message this time.

Shelia turned to him shocked at his response. Is this a compliment I can make mine? Her heart sank down at hearing these kind words made in regards to her body; it had been awhile someone had noticed her increasing size.

“Comon, let’s go. We’ll talk more in the hot tub.” He took a hold of Shelia’s hand and led her out of her chalet before she could change her mind.

3) Teenage Groupie...

Heavy, shaky footsteps echo through the night loud enough for the deaf to feel the vibrations reverberate in his ears. The windows slam forcefully and then the door swings open like a child coming home to suckle. I hear nothing but the barking of dogs from the neighbors’ yards, telling me it is another dark day in hell and one should remain in doors if they wanted to survive the dearth.

He steps in; rattling beers in hand and an angry bloodthirsty look on his face. He wants something I can’t give him, something that shouldn’t be demanded of me, something that he has stolen from me since I was old enough to remember. Whimpers of pain from the next room: mama begging to be left alone, asking where his journeys had taken him, asking why he had lost another job. A few noises, shoves, shattering of bottles and bouncing furniture and rest assured that it is another gloomy night.

I awake, and toss in my sleep, grabbing my bedspread to my chest for solace. The tears trickle even before he steps in, my teeth gnashing to a rhythm, a rhythm of fear, of avoidance, of anger and of hate. Why was I doomed to be his prize for loss of his earnings, why was I Uncle Sam who he had to answer to by the end of the month, why was I the angry dissatisfied employer who had had to let him go for failure to meet with work ethics?
He hails me, Nikki, his harsh unremorseful voice tensing up the solemn atmosphere and there is no answer. The sheets have got to save me for once; please let them keep me from his wrath.

A minute later, I feel patchy cold hands wrap around my bosoms, causing them to shrink in trepidation, he angrily tugs them to his mouth. He takes me from underneath the sheets. Angry and snorting and stinking of every lager brewed, I clench my teeth and let him have his way, counting the seconds until he is done, until it would be over and I could go back to my hazy sleep; back to my make-believe safe existence. Sometimes, he might give in, and let me hide behind the sheets, but tonight he doesn’t want to. He has pulled the sheets from me and wants a kiss, a feel from his rough, chapped repulsive lips. I would rather die. I would rather die. I clasp my eyes shut, but he forces them open. He takes my hands away from my chest and places them on his nauseating manhood, he wants me to know what it feels like, what I am getting to have that he has deprived mama of. I take it, deadening all the nerves in my hands as I take it.

My eyes rummage the room, looking for a fixture an untouched, sacred spot in my shackled room where I can find peace for these few seconds while the rest of my body is being invaded. And I find it; I find it in the poster of the five boys that Stef had given me last summer from the concert that she attended. Five men wearing white Tuxedos, smiling and waving to their fans: the picture was of happy people, happy existences, that were sadly not mine, but maybe mine someday. I would fix my eyes on it now, I would look at these tall, seemingly handsome nurtured men, I would stare at it for the few seconds he is in my body. Until, he asks of me something else, I would hear mamas screaming in the hallway, registering her faint opposition to our sordid dance, screaming, “Nikki, tell him to stop, Nikki, tell him to stop.”

“Nikki, tell him to stop, Nikki, tell him to stop.” I recited, in a trance in my sleep. I had broken into a cold sweat and thoughts of my ill-fated childhood were coming to me in my sleep. “Nikki, tell him to stop, tell him to stop.”

Lance nudged me to awaken. I opened up my eyes, in horror, scared and shaky. My heart was beating a million times faster than the chimes of a clock.

“Nikki, wake up,” he said, shaking me again when I refused to acknowledge consciousness.
“What is it? What is it?” I shot up from the bed, breaking into a panic; I clutched his chest in fear.
“You were talking in your sleep. You scared the hell out of me too. Are you okay?” He pulled me to him and rubbed my sweaty forehead. My body had dampened the sheets. He immediately pulled the covers off the bed, to ventilate my body.
“I’m fine,” I assured knowing I was not. I was having my nightmares again.

I looked at the time: it was 7.22am. We had been asleep for about four hours. Not much I thought, but not too little either, I had had less hours of sleep when A.J toured with his band, late nights and stolen hours of sleep were no stranger of mine. So why did I have the nightmare then, I thought. Why, when I haven’t had it in about 2 months, approximately since the first week I had spent with AJ and he had overheard me saying these same words in my sleep. Why then and why now?

4) Tribe of Love...prologue.

Shelia’s P.O.V:

Friday afternoon: Trisha gets her first check from the gallery that sold her first black and white portrait. We are excited and elated by the progress in her work. She is feeling too selfish to go and splash it on James since he hasn’t exactly been the generous boyfriend lately so she decides to take me to a bar, itching for us to spoil ourselves with drinks. Girls having fun. But I forget that with Trisha it isn’t always that easy.

The moment we step in, some men approach us. They are young, blandly handsome and dripping with splendor and they offer to buy us drinks. I refuse their advances. I just got out of a disappointing ordeal with a very unmotivated freeloader of a man, who happened to be a friend of Trisha’s James, so I am not too eager to meet anyone yet. I am still recovering, and still very much ashamed…so I tell her. Besides this is meant to be ladies out on the town together.

But she doesn’t hear of it. She intelligently excuses herself from the pleasant invitations for drinks and chitchat from the men, explaining to them how she is in a laborious but loving relationship with a man. However, she goes on to announce her very available and charming friend’s phone number. At this point I knew that Trisha might have had some drinks before we came out. Only an inebriated one would speak like she is speaking without scrupples. I urge her to a corner and beg her not to do this but she snaps back by saying, “You need this Shelia, you’re love life is zero since you moved into that main house, zero. I can’t see you do this to yourself.”

So I agree, albeit reluctantly I do. The man’s name is Brown: African-American, nice smile, trimmed beard, neat cut hair. We go out on a couple of drinks together and he seems nice…plain nice. Nevertheless, the first day he comes into the house he greets Keanu like he is a co-tenant, rude and disconcerted, even though I had echoed it into his ears that this is the man that owns the house. He shrugs it off and I feel like burying my head in the ground when I spy the fierce pursing of Keanu’s lips. His eyes spoke volumes of what he would have liked to say or do to this young man but has withheld out of respect for me. And I watch the storm brew in them and wish I could just bury my head in the ground dragging Trisha along with me.

I wish she could understand that because I live with Keanu I can no longer bring any sort of man home, it is a bit pretentious and shady but true. It’s like having a big brother you wouldn’t want to see you mix up with the wrong crowd. But to Trisha everything is an adventure, she never thinks twice. How can one live like that?

Another funny detail that doesn’t add up is: I don’t know what Brown does for a living…he never mentions it.

Keanu’s P.O.V:

Friday. Meeting. Shelia.

Interview. Article. Impolite reckless boyfriends.

Bar, Rollingstone.

Friday…attend interview on Friday. Boyfriends…I almost choked the last one with my bare hands.

Shelia has date on Friday. I have an interview on Friday.

Wait…this is crazy…who the hell has an interview on a Friday night?

Aaargh! Calvin…needs a pay cut. Shelia needs to meet some decent men. I need a new life and a new agenda for my Friday nights.

Shelia, Calvin, Rollingstone reporter, Shelia’s new boyfriend, they all need to be choked…who will do the choking?

Still have to go for interview…before I make another headline by not going.

Friday. Interview. Not good. Wish I could stay home with Shelia. Wish I had something better to do.

 

5) Shelia and Ke in a quiet time...talking in the kitchen after sveral glasses of wine.

Shelia kept a steady gaze on him as he dutifully washed away the dishes they had used that evening. He had a firm purse on his lips, and his dark eyes drew in with such concentration you would think he was working on a school project with his strong manly hands lathered in dishwashing liquid. She wondered what it would feel like to have those soft silky wet hands rub up against her, not too much but maybe around the edge of her nipples, touch them slightly and tease them. Then what if, he liked it so much that he kissed her, took her mouth in his and ravaged her lips with his, pressing those tender things to punish hers until she couldn’t breath. Perhaps that would bring a smile to his studious face. She wondered if he would go about sex, rough, unadulterated lustful sex with as much seriousness and diligence as he does with other things, like wash dishes. Would he be rough and nasty, asking his lover to scream dirty unutterable words to him as his manhood pounded inside her, hitting every G-spot known to a woman? Or would he beg and moan and whisper sweet comforting words while his rough hands invaded your private zones and those heavenly eyes took you to a climax junction doing certain evil, rising and tensing you up to complete and utter orgasm slowly and gently till your breath becomes faded. She shuddered slightly. These were dirty, randy thoughts that she had allowed her riotous mind the pleasure to imagine. One wonders these things about men sometimes, especially men as mysterious as he. Which sort of lover would he be, she summarized, tilting her head to the side to examine his face for clues.

 

Shelia’s eyes never left his; she kept her focus intense and hard, rehearsing her vivid thoughts in her head, feeling her nipples tense up each time any one of those thoughts hit home with reality…his nearness.

 

At first, he was comfortable with Shelia’s focused stare but then, it made him feel watched, closely by this young lady. They had never stood so close to each other, it was as strange as it was enchanting; engaging as it was stimulating. Her brown eyes matched his but they were of a deeper shade, (maybe because of her ethnic origin though her pale skin would let you mistake her for a mulatto) a more mysterious tone that was made to let you in close enough for you to be captured by its spell in a trapping gaze. Her lips were small and pout shaped like a fish’s. The lower one considerably fuller than the upper, and her nose stood in the middle of her face like an empire, full base and a crown at the top. As she leaned back, her full rounded hips spread even wider on the edge of the sink, and with her arms placed by her side, it caused her back to arch forward and her amassing breast launch at him like spears. And if he dared trace the line from her long neck, down to her protruding collarbone, he could aim for her palpitating cleavage, which had made way underneath that loose stray button on her shirt, which she had negligently neglected to button. She was nothing different from any black woman he had seen, except that this one was standing a few inches from him---in his kitchen, breathing into his mouth, and igniting a familiar surging feeling in his loins but hence, an unwanted one. He reciprocated her gaze with his equally beguiling one, and when she caught him looking she let out an embarrassed laugh.

 

“See anything you like?” he asked, trying to break free from her gawk.

Miscellaneous:

Dreams, rants, ramblings, recurring passages.

1. The Red Hot and Chilli in my Bedroom series of dreams : dream 1; dream 2; dream 3; and dream 4.                                        
2. Alicia Keys Dream
3. Brendan Dream
4. Simple kind of Life...proposed epilogue
5. Lance Bass dream
6. Keanu dream (one of the many)
7. Believe it or not, Charlize Theron dream...

Top 5 Best Pictures:

1) Keanu

2) AJ

3) Nick

4) BSB

5) Miscellaneous

There you have it...some of the best moments of my year-2001- put on paper. This was tedious, fun, and nostalgic at some point. Overall, I am exhausted. Is there anyone I may have missed that is your personal favorite, please tell me in our empty guestbook.

Happy New Year all and thanks for sharing in a piece of my fun, my cries, my raves, my idiosyncrasies, and my tears this year, you've in effect become a part of me like I have become a part of creating those memories.

I hope you all stay blessed and have a clean, uphill, one-love for all, and wonderful successful 2002. AMEN!