Rex takes me to the concert, where a puffin flies over the orchestra, and moose, too

Just as I said I would, I ate breakfast at Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant and so did this couple. I did a number of other things throughout the day and took pictures of various subjects, ranging from mountains to airplanes to a dog running directly in front of the car going in the same direction as me, but I've got to get to the concert, so I will skip all that.

Rex bought a couple of tickets to the Saturday night performance of the Anchorage Symphony and invited me to join him. So I drove into town, parked the car and walked over to the Alaska Center for the Performing Arts, where I saw a family who identified themselves as the Barnes passing by on the sidewalk.

Other people were looking at the ice sculptures that adorn the plaza adjacent to the Performing Arts center. I heard a story on NPR this afternoon that explained why the Lower 48 and the mid-latitudes of Europe and Asia have experienced such cold weather this winter while the Arctic - even the North Pole - has been unseasonably warm.

It is not just because of El Niño, as I had suspected, but because of the Arctic Oscillation. Normally, the air pressure at the pole is lower than elsewhere and so the cold not only forms, but settles in. This year, there has been a shift in the air pressure, which has been higher on the pole than normal and lower to the south and so the cold air that would normally linger in the north has moved to the south.

The guy said that the odds of it happening this way are about the same as being given one draw from a deck of cards to pull out the Ace of Diamonds, and then you pull out the Ace of Diamonds.

I went into the lobby and soon Rex showed up with the tickets. 

After we entered the auditorium and found our seats, I snuck up to the front real quick so I could get a shot of the bass players as they limbered up their fingers and tuned their instruments.

I returned to my seat as the crowd poured in.

Here I am with Rex, waiting for the concert to start. Rex told me that part of what he has done to cope with Stephanie's abandonment is to start attending concerts and such, so that he could hear music that he had heard growing up in our house and remember it.

A guy in front of us looks at his watch. He needn't worry. The concert will start on time.

The concert opened with Bach's Brandenburg Concerto #2. The fellow playing the trumpet is Linn Weeda. BBC#2 requires the trumpeter to blow his instrument up an extra octave from its normal range and, if what I was taught in college is true, in order to play it, the musician must have lung power strong enough to inflate a car tire.

This is kind of hard for me to imagine, and I am not certain that it is true, but it is what I was taught.

I would like to tell you that the performance was flawless, that not a note was missed nor rendered even slightly shrill, but that would not be an honest statement.

What is true is that I greatly enjoyed sitting there with my son, having all these musicians playing their instruments to send sound waves of Bach flowing over us. It was very good.

It reminded me too of when Margie and I were first married, and I would often take her to recitals and concerts - classical and rock and roll. Then we would come home and go to bed and life would be sweet. Those were good times.

Linn Weeda played the trumpet, Roxann Berry the flute, Sherman Piper the Oboe and Kathryn Hoffman the violin. 

They accept their applause.

This is Paul Sharpe, playing a solo on the double bass during the performance of A Carmen Fantasy for Double Bass and Orchestra Prelude by Frank Proto.

It is a fact that I could have gotten pictures of much greater technical quality with any one of my big DSLR cameras then I got with my pocket camera - and with a telephoto lens I could came in much tighter on the subject.

But... I could not have used such a camera at all in here. I could not have taken any performance pictures at all. The pocket camera is perfectly quiet and exceptionally discreet and so I could get away with taking pictures, without getting kicked out or rising the ire of nearby audience members.

And that is a big advantage of a pocket camera.

For his encore, Sharpe played the Alaska Flag Song.

After a bit of Debussy, the Symphony wrapped up the evening with Exposition on the Anchorage Museum, a commissioned piece by California composer Gregory Prechel - who has also composed music for The Simpsons and various shows and films.

Throughout the work, selected paintings, sculptures and carvings from the Anchorage Museum of History and Art were projected overhead, beginning here with Alvin Amason's rendition of a puffin, title "It's a Sweet Dream that Keeps Me Close to You."

The painting, "Easter Tableu" by Pat Austin.

The mask: Txamshem (Raven Man) by Jack Hudson.

Update insert: As I prepared this post early this morning, I had naturally planned to give credit to the conductor, Randall Craig Fleischer, who has done good things with the Anchorage Symphony. You see the time stamped at the top: 3:06 AM? That's when I opened Squarespace to begin constructing this post, not when I closed it. I closed at about 4:45 AM and I was so tired and so anxious to get this done so I could go to bed that I forgot to credit the conductor!

Very bad of me, but here he is, Conductor Fleischer, waving his baton beneath the picture of Hudson's mask.

Afterwards, I said goodbye to Rex under an awning that he had helped to construct.

And on the way home I encountered this crazy driver. I had set my cruise control at 65. When I first came upon this vehicle, it was doing about 50 in the left lane - a no no - and so I passed on the right. Pretty soon, it shot by me, doing 75 or 80.

Shortly after that, I again passed it on the right. Then it zipped past me. Then it fell back... then it passed me...

That's the kind of driver that was in control of this vehicle.

Notice the fog - how it engulfs the lights, but does not touch the ground.

There's lots more that I would like to write about the day that has most recently ended, but its almost time to get up and I have a big day ahead of me Sunday, so I think I had better stop and go to bed.

I should note, though, that of all the music performed, it is Bach that continues to play in my head. The other pieces have fallen silent. 

Bach rules!

Kalib eats Kiwi Fruit; Mayor Edward Itta in front of my old photos; all of my Anchorage kids except for Melanie - but I did get her cats; I see Avatar

I have been flooded with angry complaints, all of which go something like this: "Where is Kalib? Why has he disappeared from your blog?"

Here he is.

Today I went into Anchorage to do a couple of things and after I did the first, I headed over to Kalib's daycare center. I arrived at lunch time, which explains the bib, and just before naptime, which explains why he looks so tired.

He was surprised and excited when I first stepped through the door. That was kind of nice.

He's eating Kiwi fruit. Think about that: a Navajo/Apache boy eating Kiwi fruit in Alaska in January.

That's the kind of world we live in now.

This is Edward Itta, Mayor of the North Slope Borough, which, of course covers the Arctic Slope with headquarters in Barrow. Even so, it is essential that the Borough keep an office in Anchorage. Mayor Itta had come down to take care of some Anchorage business, which gave me the opportunity to go in and do a little interview with him.

See all those photos on the wall behind him?

Those are mine and I made those prints probably about 20 years ago. Many of the people pictured have since left this life.

"Where's your camera?" Mayor Itta asked me when he first saw me. "I never see you without your camera." He was very surprised when I pulled the little, tiny, palm-sized pocket camera out of my pocket.

I had lunch with Jacob and Lavina...

...and Lisa, too. I got maybe one hour of sleep last night, and it is now getting late again and I am just too tired to recount any of the conversation or even to recall topics discussed.

It did feel real good to have Lisa put her head on my shoulder.

Jacob, looking sharp in his US Public Health Services Commissioned Corp uniform.

The view in my rearview mirror while stopped at a red light on my way to take care of another piece of business.

I have no idea what happened here.

This is Jack King of Camai Printing, and he is handing me a color proof from a job Camai is printing for me. 

After that, I went by myself to watch the 3D version of the movie Avatar. I won't review it, but it was definitely a threshold movie. I know - there have been 3D movies before this one, but I do believe this is the one that is going to mark the moment when 3D started coming at us for real.

It did not feel at all gimmicky. It took a fantasy world and made it real. If only, at the end, the movie makers could have risen above formula and cliche, it could have also been a great movie, like the Last of the Mohicans or Little Big Man, or Dead Man, because its the same story, really, and the movie did get off to a fanatastic start, story-wise.

As to the effects, fantastic from beginning to end. Soon, I suppose, such effects will commonplace, expected.

Melanie had to work very late and I did not get to see her. I did go to her house, though, and see her cats. Here is Slick, or Bear Meach, as he is also called.

And here is Diamond, the sweet ornery one.

And here's Epizzles, or Poof, who is actually Charlie's cat, but is staying with Melanie and her cats right now.

As for Royce, the results came back. It is a thyroid deficiency. Now, he must be medicated twice a day for the rest of his life. Other than that, the test results showed no problems.

It was Rex who let me into Melanie's house to see the cats. Now that Stephanie has gone, he is temporarily living in Melanie's basement apartment along with Cassie, the 11 year-old dog that Stephanie brought into the marriage.

Some of you will remember Box Car Bean, the very beautiful cat that I rescued and gave to Rex and Stephanie a couple of years back. I loved that cat from the moment I rescued it and brought it home. I never wanted it to leave the family and that's why I gave it to Rex and Stephanie, but when she left, Stephanie took Boxcar Bean with her.

Rex says Stephanie needed to have Boxcar.

Here I am, driving out of Anchorage.

And here I am, on the Palmer Hay Flats, almost home.

Now, once again, it is very late  - early the next morning, actually, and given my one hour of sleep last night, I am extremely tired. So I have already made up my mind - after I get up, I'm going to Family Restaurant for breakfast, even if it's closer to lunch time.

I know. I should stay home and cook oatmeal. Eat a banana.

But I'm going to the Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant.

I'm just going to do it. I don't care about economics, wisdom, or practicality. I'm going.

On a warm and snowy day, I eat at Family, get barked at, pass by Wasilla's Hall of Wisdom and receive a generous offer to help Royce

During my all too brief meagre hours in bed, I kept looking forward to getting up and heading to Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant for breakfast. I had made up my mind before going to bed that this was what I would do and I was excited about it.

That doesn't mean that I popped right out of bed. I don't think that I have been to bed before 3:00 AM since Margie left for Arizona and sometimes not until 4:00 or after. And then I always lay awake for at least an hour, after which I wake up frequently through the night. So I wasn't popping out of bed for anything - not even breakfast at Family Restaurant.

But, at about 9:30, I carefully extracted myself from the quilt of cats that weighed down the blankets that covered me, took care of a few tasks, including some in this computer, and then headed over about 10:40 or so.

I got a new waitress, a woman who I do not recall seeing before, but she was good. She made sure the hashbrowns were done just right, and she took her time pouring the coffee, because one thing about this new little Canon s90 pocket camera - it is very slow to turn on and prepare. That's why she took her time, so I could get this picture.

I truly appreciate it.

Now I back up a few minutes, as I drive over, just to show you that it was a warm and snowy day - the first snow since before Christmas. Here I am, stopped at a stoplight, as this guy in front of me runs a green light.

One more shot from Family.

On my walk, Tequila came running, barking, growling, through the new snow.

Of course I know that she is a nice dog and does not mean any of it, but she forgets that I know. Or maybe she thinks that she can fool me this time into thinking that she really is mean.

Uh, oh! She gets bogged down in the new snow.

Oh, dear...

It's a humiliating thing for a nice dog who is trying to convince you that she really is mean and nasty to get bogged down in the new snow.

An empty school bus passes by King's Chapel, across the street from Metro Cafe. Well, if its empty, Bill then who is driving it?

I had a haircut scheduled for 4:15. I did not want to get a haircut at 4:15, but that was the only time available, the scheduler told me.

Along the way, I passed this hitchhiker. See that place behind him? The Mug Shot Saloon? You are probably already familiar with it - at least from the inside. As everyone knows, the national media all descended upon Wasilla after John McCain chose Sarah Palin to be his VP running mate.

Invariably, it seemed, the media always wound up here, inside the Mug Shot Saloon, seeking local wisdom, asking intelligent, probing, incisive questions to highly knowledgeable, clear-headed, sharp-minded individuals. They then dispensed this wisdom and knowledge upon the rest of the nation. Yes, they saw the Mugshot Saloon as Wasilla's Grand Hall of Wisdom and so came by to see how much of that wisdom they could soak up themselves.

After the haircut, an experience that I will not bother to describe, I went to the bank to transfer money from our business account to the personal account. It was a most discouraging experience - but I remain optimistic.

Now, I hardly know what to write, even though I have been thinking about it on and off for hours. In the comments to yesterday's post there is a message from Funny Face - the same generous person who surprised me with two gift cards to Metro Cafe.

After she read about Royce's trip to the vet, she offered to start up a little fund-raising effort to pay Royce's vet bills.

I am deeply touched and moved not only that she thought of this and even called the vet clinic, but that she got positive response - even from Mocha, who just lost a cat. I never imagined anything like this happening.

I did not respond right away because I had to think about it and I had to consult both with Melanie in Anchorage and Margie in Arizona. 

Royce came to us in December of 1994 through a stray cat that followed Rex home and then camped out with us for a couple of years. By the time Royce was born, we had already had a house full of cats and so we determined that we would give away his entire litter of four. One, a black cat, went to friend of Jacob's named Angel and she named it "Little Guy." Angel lives in Phoenix now, Little Guy still with her, and she often leaves comments on this blog.

Melanie fell in love with Royce. When we told her that too many cats already lived in the house, along with the dog Willow, and that the orange kitten just had to go, she was crestfallen but tried to be brave.

One day, a woman who had seen one of the ads I put out called and told me that she wanted an orange kitten. "Is the orange one still available?" she asked.

I was just about to say "yes," but then I spotted Melanie and Royce, snuggled up together, loving each other.

"No," I said, "I'm sorry, but the orange kitten has been claimed."

Melanie grew up, went off to college, got two new cats and now the three of them live together in Anchorage with Charlie and his cat Epizzles, or "Poof" as regular visitors, but she still loves Royce as dearly as she did when she lived in this house with him.

So I had to get her input. "I want to pay for his care, Dad," she told me.

I also talked to Margie. She noted that, sooner or later, after every natural disaster of major proportions, stories come out about animals in need of rescue. Margie suggested that Haiti might be a good place for the contributions that would go to Royce to be sent.

I am greatly touched. Part of this is probably also a desire to help me with this blog, something that a number of posters have expressed a desire to do.

Sooner or later, hopefully in February, (although I had once planned to do it in October, then November, then December...) I plan to restructure this blog a bit. One of the things that I plan to do is to create a store where I can make prints available. Then, anyone who wants to help will be able to do so and get a print, too.

Funny Face, I thank you, greatly.

And be assured - Royce will be in at least one of those prints, along with Kalib.

I expect to see Kalib tomorrow. So he will be in this blog again.

Royce and his fellow patients at the vet; Art blows the snow away; linemen and At&t iPhone limbo

These are symptoms that an aging cat with thyroid problems can be expected to exhibit: voracious appetite, gorges food, vomits often, powerful thirst, becomes very vocal, meows more than ever, once-beautiful fur coat becomes ratty and ragged.

I learned this from Dr. Gerald Nance of the Wasilla Veterinary Clinic, seen here giving Royce a good look-over.

Royce is a bit nervous, but he enjoys attention and he is getting it.

Whoa! Maybe a little bit too much attention! Royce gets his temperature taken.

The only way to know for certain that Royce has a thyroid problem is to take a blood sample and get it analyzed, for several conditions. So Dr. Nance took Royce into the backroom and got a sample taken. We should know by Friday.

Up front, a tiny patient named "Teddy Bear" waited in the arms of a clinic receptionist.

And a dog named "Gunner" waited his turn. I wonder what kind of guns he uses, and how does he shoot a gun, as he lacks both thumb and fingers?

Or could his name be "Gunnar," not Gunner?

It could be, I suppose.

That's what they teach you in "Newspaper Reporting 101":

"Always ask how the name is spelled - never assume." A boy's name might sound like "Jim" to you, but it might actually be, "Gym."

And no boy named "Gym" wants to see his name in print spelled as "Jim."

But this is not a newspaper. This is a blog. The rules for blogs are different than newspapers. In fact, there are no rules for blogs. A blogger can do whatever he pleases.

And no dog that I have ever met gives a whimper how you spell it's name. Call it what you will and it will still wag its tail if it likes you and growl at you if it doesn't; maybe even bite you.

Gunner wouldn't bite. He would just shoot.

Unless he is Gunnar. In that case, he has no need for guns.

Still, at some point, I think I should adopt that old newspaper standard when it comes to the spelling of names, dogs included.

And this is Buttercup, who is not sick at all, but just hangs out at the clinic with her people.

Gunner(ar) goes in to get checked up.

Shortly after I returned Royce to the house, I took my walk. I took a picture of my hand, just as an exposure check. I had no intention of putting this image in this blog, but, what the heck. Surely, this is a picture I should give the entire world the opportunity to gaze upon.

I will probably win a big prize for it.

I walked and walked without seeing another person. And then I saw snow blowing. It has not snowed here since well before Christmas, but the winds of the past three days have blown snow around, sometimes putting it back from where it had already been removed.

So Art removes the snow from his driveway again.

"It's practically as hard as concrete," he told me.

That's what a driving wind does to snow - it makes it hard, so that you can walk right on top of it without breaking through. 

On my coffee break, I saw this lineman at work in the face of Wasilla's own little "Big Ben." Notice how the clock says 4:15 and look how light it is. The light is coming on fast now. The official sunset time today was 4:12, four minutes and nine seconds later than yesterday.

Remember how a couple of days ago I noted the cold temperatures to the north of here and speculated that they might soon slip down?

So far they have not. On my coffee break, depending on where I was, the temperatures ranged from 13 to 19. It will probably go a degree or two below zero overnight. I just checked to see what the temperatures are in two of my favorite communities:

Fort Yukon is -56.

Barrow is -25, fairly warm for January. Barrow doesn't get as cold as Fort Yukon, though, because Barrow sits at the edge of the ocean and even the Arctic Ocean moderates temperatures a bit.

Still, Barrow can be a lot colder than -25 this time of year. And Fort Yukon can be much colder than -56. Barrow gets cold earlier and stays cold longer. The wind blows more in Barrow, and harder. Still, Fort Yukon gets the colder temperatures. Fort Yukon gets hot, too: 101 degrees. The very coldest places in Alaska are also the hottest - not counting the tops of mountains. It must get colder up there than anywhere else and it never gets hot, but they don't keep official weather stations on the tops of Alaska's big mountains.

And the places that get the most snow are much warmer than the places that don't - like Valdez. The snow piles past the eaves in Valdez, but super-cold temperatures don't happen. I've found both -20 and -24 listed as the record low in Valdez. The wind can really blow in Valdez. 

Anyway, now that I am not going Arizona next week, I am going to go to Barrow instead.

I will tell you what the weather is like when I get there.

There were actually two line men working.

And no, I still don't have my iPhone. I have spent hours on the phone this week, talking to a friendly woman from At&t who genuinely seems to want to get the problem solved, but so far she hasn't been able to.

Each day, she says she will have the problem solved by the end of the day, but when the day ends, the problem is not solved. I still do not have my iPhone.

I could describe the problem as she has described it to me, but it is totally illogical and she doesn't even understand herself why it has played out as it has and I lack the energy to explain.

It's enough to know that I still don't have my iPhone, and I damn well should.

Yet... off and on throughout the day, I have been seeing images coming in from Haiti. It makes me wonder why I am even concerned about such a small matter. In time, it will get worked out.

Probably most people have figured this out by now, but here is the same address that I posted yesterday where people can go to help those in Haiti:

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2010/01/haiti_earthquake_how_to_help_a.html?sc=fb&cc=fp

Royce; Ham and Swiss at the Alaska Bagel; strange animal in the back of a car by a pawn shop; Carpenter makes progress, etc.

Royce has an appointment to see the vet tomorrow morning at 10:45. Today, as usual, his appetite has been voracious and what he is doing right here is ordering me to "give me some chow, right now! Brown cow! Brown cow chow! Right now!"

But I fed him salmon chow instead - senior blend. I have fed him a number of times and, as was suggested to me in comments, have raised his water bowl up about half-an-inch off the floor, just in case that might help.

I have not found any blatant vomit today, although at one point I stepped in something slippery and almost invisible - a thin film of something. Maybe it came out of Royce, maybe out of someone else; I don't even know what it was.

Royce sure has gotten thin and frail, though.

Some readers speculate that it is because he misses Kalib, but he certainly has not lost his appetite - just his weight.

Basically, with Margie gone and Kalib and family moved out, I spend my entire days alone with only the cats. I do catch glimpses of Caleb in the morning, if I get up before he goes to bed. Usually, he is wrapped up in his video war game, or watching golf.

I took a pledge that this week that I would eat no junk food from beginning to end - and drink no Pepsi or any other soda pop. Despite the wrong impression I have managed to convey, I do not really drink a huge amount of pop. Maybe four Pepsis and half-a-root-beer per week on average.

But this week - none, not one soda pop - no junk food. 

I will see if it makes any difference in how I feel when the week is over.

So far, it hasn't made any difference at all.

I enjoy the company of cats and I am a person who does very well alone, but when lunch time came, I had to get out where people were circulating and eating and I had eliminated junk food as a means to do so.

The first alternative that came to my mind was the new place, The Alaska Bagel. It is fast food, but not junk food.

So here I am, placing an order with Johanna while her colleague, Erik, peers out from behind the bagels.

I ordered a ham and Swiss sandwich on a seasame seed bagel and helped myself to a glass of cold water that I poured from a pitcher. To any who might be having a difficult time reading Erik's right arm, it says, "Behold, I send you as sheep among wolves." His left, "As for me and my house, we will serve the..." the last word kind of fades from sight, but I strongly suspect that it reads, "...Lord."

The sandwich was good, the water, excellent, prepared just right.

On my home, I found myself behind this car and I was puzzled by the critter in the back window. It looked pretty cute, but something about it just didn't seem quite right. I hoped that there would be plenty of cross traffic at the stop sign just ahead, so that I would have time to study the critter, but there wasn't. The car briefly stopped, quickly took off and turned away fast.

Still, I got this shot off and, having looked closely at it, I have now concluded that it is not a real critter at all, but a toy - a stuffed cat.

Concerning the pawn shop ahead, I told the following story back in April, when I photographed Charlie playing my Martin Classical guitar, but I have picked up a number of new readers since then, so I will tell it again.

I first saw my Martin guitar in the display window of a music store in Globe, Arizona, in 1976. I went inside, told the salesman I wanted to play it, he took it out of the window, gave it to me, I took a seat, and played a bit of Bach on it.

Never had a guitar sounded so good in my hands. I had to have it. It cost $1800 and my annual income as the editor, reporter, writer, photographer, ad salesman and delivery boy of the Fort Apache Scout tribal newspaper was $10,000. I didn't care. I put some money down on lay-away and kept paying until that day came, a year or so later, when I finally brought that Martin guitar home.

I did love that guitar and I even played it in a master class with Christopher Parkening. Many people used to think that I was a superb guitarist, but that was only because they did not know better. Many said I should become a professional musician. I knew better.

There is only one way to be superb on the classic guitar, and that is to play and play and play and play. Practice, practice, practice. I'm a photographer, I'm a writer. I hardly have time for both. How could I be a classical guitarist, too? I can create original works through my camera and keyboard; through my guitar I could only interpret the works of others - and not nearly as good as those with true musical talent were already doing.

So I put the guitar aside. 

Once, during one of those times when I was broke and in dire need of money, I took my Martin guitar to this pawn shop. The man behind the counter considered himself to be sharp, smart, and savvy, wise to the ways of hoodwinkers hoping to get bucks for junk. He asked me how much the guitar was worth. I told him.

He laughed loud, long and scornful. "What kind of fool do you take me for?" he ridiculed. "I know guitars. That one, it's worth $150 at most. I'll loan you $50 for it - only because I'm so generous."

So I walked out of his store with no money but my guitar still in its case, leaving behind a chuckling man who had no idea of the potential profit he had just forfeited had he given me an honest loan and then I defaulted.

I often imagine that the day will come when I am able to devote myself fully to my books and this blog. I imagine that I might then find myself with a little time to play my guitar again.

No, no... It will never happen. My guitar playing days are in the past.

You will recall Tim, the professional carpenter who appeared here just last month, having finally raised two walls on the workshop that he had begun working towards slowly for four years. Despite the high winds, which just this afternoon tapered down to maybe about 20, I found him working on it when I took my walk.

Tomorrow, Tim says, the trusses will begin to go up. As for me, our walls are still almost totally bare of photos. He is way ahead of me.

Further along on my walk, this kid and I noticed each other.

Could this be the same kid, getting off his school bus?

Almost no matter what, I must take my 4:00 PM coffee break when All Things Considered comes on the radio. As usual, I stopped the Metro Cafe drivethrough.

It looks like I won't be joining Margie in Arizona after all. It's a matter of survival. I must stay here and see if I can drum up some work. Even if I never play it again, I don't ever want to take my guitar back to another pawn shop.

I think of all the rifles that I took to pawn shops - and a pistol, too - thinking that I would pay back the loan and get them back but now those guns are owned by others and who knows how they have been used?

Now I won't see Margie until February 2, but that's how its got to be.

I don't want to lose my Martin guitar.

Update: Perhaps some of you have wondered as I have how you might help the people of Haiti. Here is a link with different aid providers that you can contribute to:

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2010/01/haiti_earthquake_how_to_help_a.html?sc=fb&cc=fp