Category: Best 110 Personal Paper

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Chance

Natalie Nowak

Pilsen. In case you haven’t heard of it, it’s a neighborhood near the Lower West Side in Chicago, right near Chinatown. It’s a relatively large neighborhood with dozens of restaurants, shops, apartment complexes, and an important museum: the National Museum of Mexican Art. This museum is one of the only places left that houses the incredibly rich history and culture of Latino immigrants in Chicago. Not only is it a sacred place for its historical art, but it also serves as the residents’ sounding board in response to the increasing gentrification in Pilsen. While the neighborhood has retained the majority of its Hispanic makeup, it has also seen an incredible rise in the percentage of white households. When I visited Pilsen for the first time, I felt like I was trespassing on someone’s property. I was an outsider. I knew at that moment that I had stepped into something frightening: an entire culture washing away in front of my eyes.

I didn’t intentionally visit Pilsen. I hadn’t even really heard of it before. All I knew about it was that it had a strong Hispanic influence. Most neighborhoods in Chicago have some connection to ethnicity, and this is thought to be the “main” Mexican neighborhood. The day when I first encountered Pilsen, I had the intention of going to some shops in Lincoln Park, an upscale neighborhood on the North Side. Unfortunately, that same day, the Pride Parade was scheduled right where I would be headed, and I was not about to throw myself into the crowd of millions of people there. By the time I found out the parade was scheduled there, I was already headed into the city from the suburbs, so I had to make a backup plan. I quickly came up with a new plan to visit the Heart of Italy, a neighborhood just west of Pilsen. It was a warm day, and I only wanted to take public transportation halfway there so I could walk the rest. I got off the L right before Pilsen and headed towards the Heart of Italy.

I knew I had undoubtedly entered a new neighborhood. The smell of taquerias and elote flooded my senses. I saw the bright and vivid murals embraced in Spanish poetry. Kids ran through the streets with not a care of the loud clanking train overhead. It felt incredibly homey and carefree at first. As I made my way down 18th Street, I saw Giordano’s (a famous Chicago pizza chain), over-the-top coffeehouses, and an expensive smoothie bar. I didn’t pay much attention to this at first; I was used to seeing these types of businesses in other neighborhoods.

However, I started to see signs of protest the deeper I got into the neighborhood. Yard signs protesting the rising property costs, chalk depictions of kids’ families immigrating from Mexico, and banners hung on families’ porches with sayings like, “LEAVE US ALONE.” I wanted to ask some of the residents what was going on, but at the same time, I felt like there was a message being conveyed to me: look for yourself. From there, I started my search.

I did a quick Wikipedia search about the neighborhood and pulled some facts together about demographics and history. When I looked up Pilsen on Google, my search results flooded with articles about Hispanic families leaving because of rising costs, the gentrification debate, and stories about the loss of culture. Both DNAinfo and WTTW cite rapid decline of Pilsen’s Hispanic families. One of these statistics mentions a staggering 26 percent drop in 10 years. This net emigration is a direct result of rising rent and housing costs, as well as a response to wealthy and young white residents moving in (Lulay). One of the most striking examples of gentrification in Pilsen is the increasing number of modern and upscale restaurants throughout the neighborhood–three opened up in 2017. Perhaps even more striking is the fact that some of the original Latino-owned restaurants are modifying their menus to attract visitors and new residents (Bloom). For lack of better words, they are “Americanizing” their menus. While Pilsen’s Hispanic families couldn’t completely stop these restaurants from opening or stop young white residents from moving in, they have remained opposed to new development plans and rising costs (WTTW).  Even though I knew I could get a full scope of the situation through the news, I headed to the Mexican museum. I felt like I would get a better sense of what was going on through the art.

The collection at the museum was compelling. It ranged from ancient to modern to street art. The museum even housed a stage for children’s plays. Instead of starting the traditional way and working my way forward through history, I thought it would make more sense to start at the present and go back in time. I was eager to know how intertwined Latino history and culture were with Pilsen’s residents. The first exhibit was intense and tear-jerking: poetry about families being torn apart, torn-up Chicago Tribune newspapers, ironic and modern depictions of “Don’t Tread on Me,” and a film with a first-person view of homelessness. The list goes on. The exhibit was an uncensored response to the gentrification in Pilsen and its effects on the families there–especially the Hispanic families. I felt the pain and loss even though I had never experienced it myself; after all, I grew up in a comfortable, safe, and predominantly white suburb. Yet, when I was in that exhibit, it brought me face-first to the struggles some of the families endured. The next exhibit was similar, but it hit closer to home. A local school had gathered the art of some of its students to put on display at this museum. These students, however, weren’t just random and talented artists. They were young men and women that had fallen into the pit of gangs, street life, drugs, and violence. Many of them experienced depression and developed other mental illnesses. The school had courageously asked these students to make art instead of war, and the results were terrifyingly beautiful. There were no limits to the art forms or the themes. I read about how, for some, they felt like the streets were their destiny, and I saw what depression looks like when it’s mixed with street life. And, perhaps most importantly, I understood why these students felt like their home was being snatched before their eyes. These students were my age and could have easily been given the relatively comfortable life I had. Instead, they had to fight what they were given. As I left the exhibit almost crying, I traversed through the modern and ancient art exhibits and kept noticing one important aspect of Mexican culture: home.

For many residents, Pilsen was–and is–home. Whether it’s the young teenagers that got mixed into trouble or the immigrant parents seeking a better future for their families, Pilsen is where they share their culture and grow together. The prospect of losing your home, whether culturally or physically, is horrifying. It’s something that people try to avoid and ignore, and yet the families here face it with incredible bravery. I never had to know what it felt like to lose my home or my culture, but the words I read, the paintings I saw, and the music I listened to transcended any veil of ignorance. I recognized an entire culture that had been ignored for so long. The power of fear was strong in Pilsen, but the power of bravery was even stronger. To me, it is incredibly courageous for someone to face the prospect of losing everything important in their life with such a fervent and daring attitude. It is inspirational for someone to fight when they know the risks are high and the odds are against them. I learned how important it is to stay brave in the most troubling times and to fight for your culture–even when the chances of “winning” are low.

I will never meet the artists behind all the work at the museum in Pilsen but I don’t have to to know their story. They opened my blind eyes to a world of pain, fear, and, most importantly, persistence. I didn’t have any specific reason to be in Pilsen but, in retrospect, I now know it wasn’t just by chance. It’s important for me to pass on the story of Pilsen and the incredible lessons its residents taught me through their art. Although I can’t account for any personal experiences with losing my culture, I understand the fear associated with that, but also the courage one must adopt to fight that fear.

Works Cited

Bloom, Mina. “How Restaurants Feed the Gentrification Debate in Pilsen and Logan Square.” Eater Chicago, Vox Media, 6 Feb. 2018.

Lulay, Stephanie. “Pilsen Gets Whiter As 10,000 Hispanics, Families Move Out, Study Finds.” DNAinfo, DNAinfo, 13 Apr. 2016.

Pupovac, Jessica. “Pilsen Develops New Tools To Fight Gentrification.” WTTW, WWCI.

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Apprehensively in Love

Jessica Orazietti

 

For most of my life, I held strong beliefs, which formed the basis of my morality. I was taught that being kind is the most important thing, family is prioritized, and you should always do right by the people you love. In essence, these are all good thoughts; however, it’s clear to me now that they are beliefs rooted in naiveté. Life isn’t as simple as a set of rules; you can be a good person and fail to uphold these standards. Lewis Carroll (1985) wrote, “I can’t go back to yesterday – because I was a different person then” (p. 18). We are all constantly evolving, everything in our lives affecting us, changing the way we think, changing the way we act, and ultimately changing who we are. Mental growth and maturity is a funny thing to me – it’s not something that can really be quantified, or even noticed as it’s happening, but it’s something you see one day and wonder how you could have possibly gotten through life with such innocence. There was inexperience present in the way I thought about life and love before; it was a beautiful, albeit incorrect notion, bordering on magical thinking. I thought that love was unquestionable and unconditional. I assumed that if you did something to hurt the person you loved, then the feeling was not real. In my mind, it was something so strong and present, that I blinded myself to important truths about human behaviour that I was typically apt to see.

I still remember in crushingly vivid detail, the day this fantasy began to crumble before me. My brother picked me up and I could immediately tell there was something on his mind. He stammered on his words over and over again, my anxiety increasing exponentially as the moments grew longer. Finally, the anticipation got to be too much and I yelled at him to simply say what he was trying to say. A moment, I immediately wished I could take back, because not only did this revelation end my relationship, but it was also the catalyst that launched me into a change in reality. After hearing what he had to say, the immediate truth I chose to believe was that the guy I had spent several years with did not love me, nor did he ever. He wasn’t the man I knew; he was an actor with the role of a lifetime and the regret and remorse he showed for months afterward was his commitment to the character. The truth was though, I knew all along who he really was. I saw it in the way he interacted with the people around him, constantly looking for attention, trying to be the funny guy, the tough guy, the anything but regular guy. I could see how easily he got hurt – his back always up against the wall – constantly feeling like the last call. I knew how he grew up, but even if I didn’t, his pain was etched all over him: in the way he spoke, in the way he behaved, in the way he drank. Pain, over pain, over pain, tattooed all over his body, his attempts at hiding it only making it more transparent. So how couldn’t I see it; how couldn’t I know? I saw it everyday: his efforts to shy away from it, covering it up, any way he could, vice upon vice, his pain only becoming bigger. He buried it, compacted the hole, waiting for the day it would explode. He was a ticking time bomb, self destructing, and revelling in it. It wasn’t about me; it was never about me.

That day clarity made me realize that one of the largest obstacles we are to overcome is our susceptibility to be wounded. This fear, bound with our implicit memory of past experiences, affects the way in which we interact. Insecurities and a need to feel important will often lead us to do things we know we shouldn’t. We hurt the ones we love, for fleeting moments of satisfaction and a boost to the ego. In his novel, In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts, Dr. Gabor Mate (2012) explained, “the attempt to escape from pain, is what creates more pain” (p. 13). By this, I think he means that it’s as if we are in a constant cycle with no way out, whatever we choose to protect ourselves with, only creating more destruction. This can be said regarding love too – for aren’t we all in an internal struggle between, wanting to be loved and cherished and pushing others away, in an attempt to avoid the possibility of being hurt? Since this truth has become so clear to me, I see it everywhere. I see it in my neighbour, burying herself in work, desisting a social life, after her divorce last year. I see it in my brother with the succession of meaningless short-term relationships that came after she gave the ring back. I see it in myself, refusing to let my new guy in, pushing him away and telling myself that he doesn’t mean as much to me as he actually does. I continue to push – even though he hasn’t done anything but show me how gentle a man can be – knowing full well if I go too far, if I keep it up, he’ll be gone for good. Like bombs going off in a battlefield, each person racing to be the one to set them off, as if it’ll make it less painful if we are the ones to control our impending demise. If only we stopped and had hope that maybe the bomb wouldn’t go off. Maybe then we could heal, and find a way out, to somewhere better – somewhere great. But that reality is never in sight, it’s never a possibility, because we never jump all the way in. We hold back, never truly experiencing real elation, or complete love, because of fear. In his novel, The Adventures of Augie March, Saul Bellow (2006) said it well “everybody knows there is no fineness or accuracy of suppression, if you hold down one thing, you must hold down the adjoining” (p. 25). If we think about this, we know it’s best to feel all the things, than nothing at all, for we cannot pick and choose which emotions we want to experience. Shouldn’t the possibility of great and true love be worth the risk?

I believe that though love does ebb and flow, it is in fact a very strong force, that does not dictate our actions alone, but that is simply another one of many factors that does. Hurt, impacts us in such profound ways, that our natural survival system makes us want to flee vulnerability. Mate (2012) explained that, “the automatic repression of painful emotion is a helpless child’s prime defense mechanism and can enable the child to endure trauma that would otherwise be catastrophic” (p. 65). Naturally, we are beings that operate first and foremost by protecting ourselves from emotional anguish– a defence so innate, that even a child will do so, without provocation or instruction. Because of this, unconscious emotions start dictating our actions and reactions, regardless of intention, and regardless of love. A lot of the time we end up hurting the ones we love most of all, taking their apparent solidified positions in our lives for granted. Pain and unaddressed emotions can sometimes cause us to be unkind; and momentary satisfaction, when contested with guilt and possible backlash, often wins. When confused, or set alone, these things make love seem capricious and cheap. A cynical light can be shone, obliterating the child-like dream of this feeling that we have always yearned for. The truth is though, love is great, rather it could be, but like many things in this world, we mess it up, and make it something that could be ugly. We cheat and hurt each other and hurt ourselves, all in an attempt to feel what – not bad? Love is strong yes, possibly one of the strongest things a person can feel, but pain, pain is stronger, and the fear of experiencing it, well that is love’s biggest contender.

References

Dr. Mate, G. (2012) In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts. Toronto, ON: Vintage Canada.

Carroll, L. (1985) Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland. New York, NY: MacMillan Publishers.

Bellow, S. (2006) The Adventures of Augie March. New York, NY: Viking Press.

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Of Pants and Para Gliders

Jerusha Lane

 

It was a miserable sort of day in northern Michigan. The sky was dark and serious, and it pelted the rain down in sheets, turning the firm path into a slippery and treacherous mudslide. The wind howled in from the north, directly off a stormy Lake Superior, chilling with its cold breath any traveler who dared to pass through Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore.

The previous day had been beautiful. The sky was a brilliant blue, and the sun smiled down on the lake. Its light had sparkled and danced on the gentle waves, warming the surface of the water and turning the cold sand on the beach into a wonderful place for a nap. It had been perfect hiking weather, and an altogether perfect day—until the flies hit, that is.

Now these were no ordinary flies. They may have looked exactly like harmless little house flies, but appearances can be deceiving. Evil is the best word to describe these terrible little beasts. At first there were just one or two, but two soon turned into six hundred eighty-seven. They swarmed over the hikers, hitched a ride on their backpacks, and viciously bit the legs of anyone unfortunate enough to not be wearing a pair of pants. Pants are probably one of the best inventions known to mankind. You may not realize this until you are attacked by an angry swarm of leg-eating flies, and you are wearing shorts. After a few minutes of torment you may find yourself daydreaming about pants. After several hours, you will probably be willing to trade your soul for the ugliest pair of pants on the planet, and then parade them gleefully in front of anyone unfortunate enough to be wearing shorts.

Very quickly the hikers (the ones not wearing pants) began to lose their sanity. They began wildly waving their arms and thrashing about in a most undignified manner. Their eyes began to have a wild glint, and they started smacking themselves trying without success to be rid of the flies. At their wit’s end, they finally broke into a run, yelling in frustration, backpacks bobbing up and down, and pant-wearing companions trailing along behind. That was the first day. The second one was not much improved.

At least there weren’t any flies. They had disappeared with the sun, and the rain and chill had replaced them. There weren’t a lot of adventurers in the wilderness that day. If there had been, they would have seen a spectacle worth hiking to see—nine garbage-bag-clad backpackers hiking single file down the muddy trail, resembling bulbous insects with little heads poking out of their protruded backs. They were almost unrecognizable from the previous day, but not much more dignified-looking.

As it turns out, the garbage bag wearing backpacker is a phenomenon that happens after said backpackers forget to bring ponchos on their trip, but they of course remember to bring oversized garbage bags. “I would never do that,” I might have thought to myself. But that’s exactly what I did. Garbage bags also make excellent insulators I hear. Rumor has it you can wear them like a sleeping bag and they will reflect your heat back to you, so you will be warm and cozy. It’s a lie. I should know, since I’ve tried it before. After shivering sleeplessly for half the night you will end up in front of the campfire, sitting on a deformed log and wondering to yourself why you didn’t bring a warmer sleeping bag. And soon, your fellow garbage bag wearers will join you to sit on their own deformed logs, to think their own sad little thoughts.

Pant-makers would probably make millions of dollars if the world was suddenly overtaken by flies. The most untalented pant designer would make a fortune, and shorts would join the dinosaurs in extinction. Even annoying little insects can raise stock prices overnight, and when it rains cats and dogs in redneck country, Jethro’s Convenience Store will probably sell out of garbage bags.

Vicious swarms of leg-eating flies and garbage bags that don’t behave at all like they’re supposed to: what else could possibly go wrong when you’re a two-day hike away from civilization? Your water filter could break. And of course if your water filter decides to break, it will probably do so when one of your number gets himself dehydrated and the rest of you have just drained the last drops out of your water bottles. And actually, if anything can go wrong, it’s much more likely to go wrong when you’re in the middle of nowhere.

So there we are in our cozy little camp, situated in a beautiful hardwood forest, which just conveniently happens to be a mere few yards away from the vast water supply of Lake Superior—at least it’s convenient if you don’t mind scaling a 40 foot cliff while carrying a fifteen pound bag of water (yes, a bag). Add paragliding and rock climbing equipment to the list of items we forgot to bring. They’ll fit quite well next to the pants and sleeping bags. Since we didn’t bring the proper equipment to carry out a covert water retrieval operation, we spent the greater part of the morning trudging the half mile back and forth from the nearest beach, lugging water in our filter which had been scornfully demoted to “water bag.”

In situations such as these, when you’re trudging down life’s long path with a sloshing bag of water, it is usually best to not reflect on the fact that you spent 60 dollars on the “bag” that is personally responsible for your current loss of sanity. It is also in the best interest of the pant-wearing companion in front of you that they not do a happy dance over their choice of clothing—unless of course, they are in need of a shower. Nothing like a cold splash of reality to make your gleeful companion realize that when you plaster that picture you just took of them in their overly obnoxious pants, all over the internet, they won’t be happy-dancing anymore.

Several hours later would find the fearless adventurers back on the path, sipping warm, smoke-flavored water (floaties and all) and daydreaming about ice cubes and Gatorade. Now, it isn’t natural for natives of the far regions of the north to be dreaming about ice. In fact, most of these people pay to have their ice removed. But ice must be preferable to drinking smoky, warm water: that or the hallucinations had begun to set in. Either way, it was going to be another long day.

Two evenings later, groups of tourists wearing their “Michigan” t-shirts, khaki shorts, and funny-looking hats strolled around the visitor center at Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. Smiling and chatting, they cheerfully enjoyed the sunshine while reading informative signs and snapping pictures of the local exotic wildlife—which was mainly constituted of the occasional chipmunk and seagull. This peaceful scene was suddenly interrupted by shrieks of laughter and cries of pure joy coming from the forest. A group of slightly crazed backpackers, careened out of the forest at a limping run, arms stretched wide in ecstasy as they ran towards the end of their journey. At the sight of a vending machine, one of them even dropped to their knees and began to weep tears of joy. Pairs of tourists glanced disapprovingly at each other and hurried away.

Trying to appear sane isn’t a priority when you’ve just completed a death-defying journey. It isn’t even worth a thought. The first thing on the agenda in this moment of victory is an ice-cold coke, a greasy burger, and a long night’s sleep. Nothing but living on peanuts and beef jerky for a week can make a crappy cheeseburger from a fast-food joint taste like food fit for kings. You’ve never really enjoyed a nap in the car until you’ve spent three nights inside a garbage bag. And sometimes it takes an angry swarm of flies, to give you the proper respect for that hideous pair of pants.

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Mopping with Love

Molly Campbell

 

Think of some popular commercials. How do the most effective ones catch viewers’ attention? Are they funny? Serious? Sad? Simply informative? Everyday, people are exposed to so many commercials that they often see them as a nuisance and may not pay much attention to exactly what effect a certain commercial is designed to have. However, with a closer look one can see that each commercial has been created to target the audience in a specific way. The actors, settings, and stories to tell in a commercial are handpicked from millions of possibilities. In a recent commercial for the Swiffer WetJet entitled “Cleaning is Easier with Morty and Lee,” the Swiffer company specifically chooses to showcase the lives of an elderly couple in order to make their product emotionally and practically appealing.

By telling a real-life story, the Swiffer company creates a commercial that is relatable for viewers. The commercial is set in Morty and Lee Kaufman’s home, and they are a fairly typical couple. A common stereotype that men are the messy ones and their wives have to constantly clean up after them is highlighted in this commercial. Morty admits to being untidy: “I don’t do any cleaning. I make dirt” (Swiffer). Lee, on the other hand, represents the stereotypical housewife when she says, “I like a clean kitchen!” (Swiffer). While Lee is doing her best to get the housework done with her traditional mop and water, Morty just watches. While Lee marvels at the dirt picked up so easily by her new Swiffer WetJet, Morty just watches (Swiffer). In both of these instances it is not that Lee’s husband wants to ignore her feelings; it is simply that cleaning is just not important to him. Women who view this commercial will be able to identify with Lee; at one time or another they have no doubt found themselves tirelessly cleaning up after their onlooking husbands. On the contrary, Morty is a relatable character for men, the messy ones who are inattentive or oblivious to the housework their wives are constantly doing. Lee and Morty are a perfect example of this stereotype, and because it is so common in today’s society its representation in the commercial illustrates something that both women and men experience on a regular basis. It makes the commercial relatable for both groups and automatically causes it to resonate with them. This stereotype has been portrayed intentionally to make viewers feel emotionally connected to the commercial and is one major reason why Swiffer chose to share this particular couple’s story.

Next, the commercial specifically uses elderly actors in order to illustrate how simple and practical the product is to use and how far its design has come from the mops that are standard for people in Lee and Morty’s generation. In the beginning of the commercial, ninety year old Lee is shown struggling with her heavy old mop. She is shown trying to lift the mop up to the sink and wring it out and admits that she simply cannot do it: “I’m not big enough or strong enough for this” (Swiffer). Then, Morty and Lee find a box on their doorstep containing the Swiffer WetJet. Puzzled, Morty asks, “What is a WetJet?” (Swiffer). Lee, who is almost as confused, answers him: “I think it’s some kind of mopping device” (Swiffer). The box is so small that they can’t believe something inside of it could possibly replace their big traditional mop, showing that this is a practical, modern product. The Swiffer WetJet is infinitely easier for Lee to use than her conventional mop (Swiffer). The functionality of the product is emphasized when Lee shows her surprise at how well it works and how effortless it is to use. She says, “There sure is a lot of dirt on there. Morty!? Look how easy it is” (Swiffer). The creators of the commercial exaggerate this to leave potential consumers thinking that if a ninety year old woman can use the WetJet without difficulty then so can almost anyone else. The Kaufmans’ age is used to exaggerate the practicality of the product. Their amazed reaction to this new appliance is due in part to the fact that they are elderly, and Lee’s ability to use the product easily despite being ninety years old highlights its simplicity and user-friendliness.

Lastly, the creators of the commercial incorporate scenes of heartwarming interaction between the Kaufmans in order to get viewers to associate positive emotions with the product. Although Morty does not take an interest in cleaning himself, he is concerned about Lee trying to use the old mop. When he sees her struggling with it he worries aloud: “There should be some way to make it easier” (Swiffer). It is touching that although Morty is completely out of his element in the world of housework, he evidently cares for his wife enough that he wishes it did not have to be as difficult for her to get the clean kitchen that she desires. When the product is delivered to the Kaufman’s doorstep Morty calls Lee out to see it saying, “Here’s a box, babe, open it up” (Swiffer). It is endearing to hear Morty address Lee with such a romantic, charming term especially given that they are ninety years old. Then, after opening up the WetJet and having Lee show him how simple it is to use, Morty remarks, “It’s almost like dancing!” (Swiffer) and proceeds to twirl his wife around the kitchen. Scenes of affection and romance somehow always seem to be even more adorable when they involve seniors, and the Swiffer company takes advantage of this. Through the use of this elderly couple, the creators of the commercial are able to take scenes that would have been fairly emotive already and make them even more poignant. This is done deliberately to give the product sentimental appeal and make it memorable. When viewers see this appliance in stores, they will recall the emotional effect that the commercial had on them and will be more likely to purchase it.

In conclusion, it is very evident that the company chose to feature this particular couple for specific reasons in their commercial for the Swiffer WetJet. Lee and Morty and their story serve not only to demonstrate the usefulness and practicality of the product being advertised, but also to add emotional appeal to it. Lee and Morty are representatives of a stereotype that is seen frequently in society: men make messes, and women clean up after them. Swiffer uses this aspect of Lee and Morty’s lives to create a commercial that is relatable for male and female audiences, thus helping viewers develop a connection to the product. Even as an elderly woman, Lee is able to operate the Swiffer WetJet quite easily, proving its simplicity and usefulness. Morty is very affectionate towards his wife, making the commercial touching and causing viewers to associate positive emotions with the product. Swiffer could have selected countless other individuals for this commercial, but chose Morty and Lee because they make the product practically and emotionally alluring. After all, who could resist the idea of quick and easy mopping combined with a little love story?

 

Works Cited

Swiffer. Cleaning is Easier With Morty and Lee. Youtube. Youtube. 1 July 2013. Web. 10 Oct. 2015.