My Thanksgiving

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, a holiday I do not celebrate, I´ve decided to honor you with a feast. A feast of my ranting thoughts that is (as horrendously corny as that sounds) because the same way I do not celebrate this holiday (call me a Grinch, today I´m being one) I am in no mood to cook.

According to Wikipedia, “The first Thanksgiving feast lasted three days providing enough food for 53 pilgrims and 90 Indians."

Three days of feasting and enough food for 143 people--that´s a party in my book. Plus 90 of the attending guests were semi-naked, so things may or may not have gotten wild. So how did we go from party to family reunion? Way to kill what could have been an awesome holiday.

It would still be fun however, if you have a family of drinkers. Thanksgiving with my family, would consist of an alcohol-loaded night, cracking jokes (most content is not adequate to be published in this blog) and dancing to our old school anthem-- Daddy Cool. Aguardiente, a liquorish-based Colombian drink, would have been rolling around the table if it were up to my uncle to decide. I personally would have preferred some gin and tonic. Point is turkey and gravy would not have been the main part of night.

But since my family does not celebrate Thanksgiving and I´m feeling bitter today I´m going to ignore what could be a great night chez Vo. However, since I am taking the time to write this and tomorrow is not only about the food but also about giving thanks, I guess I should name a lucky few-- my mom, my dad, my roommie, blah blah. My landlord who fixed the leak after maybe the 100th time we threaten to break our lease; Remy, our mouse, for finally moving into our neighbors´ apartment and leaving us alone. I guess I should double thank the restaurant downstairs of my apartment building for 1. Always making sure my room smells like garlic and 2. Keeping their doors open late enough that I can go to bed at 1 a.m. on a Monday and still listen to people´s conversations downstairs. Thank you all!

Yes you guessed it, at the moment I´m sitting alone in my apartment. I´m bored out of my mind. Chlo left me (LEFT ME!) to go see her bf in Montreal and it´s raining outside and Caro, my friend who´s coming to visit, is stuck in traffic and I´m starving. No I do not want turkey or gravy or mash potatoes. Sleeping pills, however, are more than welcome.

On that note, Happy Holidays!

Art tells a story...?

I just got back from Terence Koh´s art show in Tompkins Square Park. I´m still deciding what my reaction is towards the exhibit. I guess I just find it hard to give a significant value to art when the idea behind it is so conceptual. Koh dressed people in white fabrics and completely covered their faces with white paint and their hair with white baby powder. It was a procession that began in Tompkins Square and made its way through Avenue B until 13th street where they walked west until a bar called Phoenix.

The show was basically a line of walking ghosts who didn´t speak or make eye contact with other people. A lot of spectators began in the park and a few others joined the procession as we walked by. After the show when my friend interviewed the artist I realized that the whole procession was in memory of the riots that occurred in Tompkins Square in 1991. City officials forced 200 homeless people out of the park. Knowing this definitely legitimized the entire art show. Being in a park at 7 p.m. with random people, following a crowd of people dressed in white suddenly made more sense. Kind off.

Below are a few pictures of the show…

If you want to know more about the artist and his future shows visit his website: http://www.asianpunkboy.com

Not South of the Border

When a Mexican tells me she has found the best taco eatery in Manhattan, I believe her. MJ, my Mexican friend was the one who told me about Pinche Taqueria, “a genuine Mexican eatery in the Big Apple,” she said. Enough said. Mexican cuisine is at the top of my book. Guacamole is my ultimate weakness, I like all things spicy and beans (pronounced beanzz) is my favorite word.

On Tuesday afternoon, after a morning of mouth-watering thoughts about Mexican food, I made my way down to 277 Mott St. Besides the construction site, Pinche Taqueria is hard to miss. It´s the only locale in the block that has Christmas lights hanging on its façade all year long.

In it´s rustic exterior there is a sign advertising Pinche Taqueria as the winner of the 2008 Citysearch Editors Pick of Cheap Eats. By this point I was sold.

As soon as I walked inside I liked it. Decoration is minimal in comparison to other Mexican restaurants in the city. It makes it unique. The squalid corridor with red walls and wooden tables and chairs give it a cozy feel. Mexican rancheras are playing in the background and occasional champeta beats—a variation of the popular reggaeton— seem to excite the customers. The staff is made up of one waiter, one cook, a delivery boy and the cashier who takes your order too.

After a hard process of elimination I ordered the Rolled Tacos, one steak and one chicken. I was surprised at how fast the food was prepared considering all orders are made on the spot. Nothing is pre-made. Ten minutes after my order I was savoring the corn tortilla, topped with lettuces, sour cream, cheese, and, oh, my one and only guacamole. Both tacos were delicious, but I would recommend ordering the steak one. My Rolled Tacos and coke were a total of $9. A pretty good deal. The best part was definitely the spicy tomato sauce (made from real tomatoes. I don´t mean ketchup). My tongue still burns from how much sauce I put in the tacos. Heart burn here we go.

My only disappointment was how much lettuce was in the plate. Less salad, more tacos and cheese and we´ll all be happy.

When I first go to the eatery at 2 p.m. there was only one customer in the restaurant. When I left 35 minutes later there were a total of 17 people. A couple of students and an older crowd filled the locale. Surprisingly, none of the customers were speaking Spanish. Pinche Taqueria seems to satisfy the pallet of locale New Yorkers, a tough crowd I would say.

For the non meat eaters and weight watchers Pinche Taqueria offers fish and vegetarian tacos as well as salads. For the drinkers, there´s an entire fridge full of Mexican beers. It also offers a breakfast menu every day of the week from noon to 4 p.m. Huevos rancheros with a side order of Chilaquiles for me, please.

I don´t think you´ll find better MEXICAN food (not the Americanized version of it) in the city with these prices. Seriously, don´t miss out on going to Pinche Taqueria, wey.

A Famous Midriff

I write posts about things below 14th street in Manhattan because:

#1 I love downtown Manhattan and the stories you find are never ending and almost always entertaining.

#2 I´m too lazy to go uptown (i.e. why hop on a subway or, worse, pay a cab ride when Magnolia´s Cupcakes and 16 Handles are downtown?)

#3 If I´m lazy about going uptown, what makes you think I would go to a different borough?

#4 I HATE MIDTOWN.

There is something about midtown Manhattan that makes me cringe. In terms of structure, midtown follows the grid system. However, it is perhaps the most disorganized area in the island. It´s always packed with people that I don´t understand if they live there, if they work there or if they´re visiting.

Midtown is like the midriff that no one wants to show. Uptown would be the pretty face that people want to see and downtown, well downtown, is where all the action would be happening. Midtown lacks the glamour of uptown Manhattan and the coolness of the downtown area. It doesn´t really have a set personality. And in Manhattan, I´m sorry, personality is a must.

Times Square, a signature area of midtown Manhattan, has personality. But Times Square has the propensity of giving someone a heart attack if not visited with caution.

I understand Times Square is pretty much the New York you see in movies and lights flashing 24/7 and Hershey´s Kisses the size of my apartment buildings can be mesmerizing. But when you are living in New York, a picturesque, quiet block in the West Village with one light post at the end of the street and normal size houses sounds so much more attracting.

With Vovo, my grandmother, visiting this past week, we couldn´t skip a Broadway trip. We went to see In the Heights (obviously--latins and latins and latins and Inwood Heights) in the rainiest day of the week. Picture me walking through Times Square with an umbrella that kept flipping over, carrying my huge purse, my heavy camera which I couldn´t even use because of the rain and my grandmothers´ shopping bags. Plenty of them.

Vovo couldn´t have been happier-- “So much life! So many lights! This right here is why I like coming to NY!” Jeez, thanks Vo. Meanwhile, I was hyperventilating. Between the men selling bells that say I (heart) NY (the bell doesn´t work), the one selling little representations of the Statue of Liberty (most of them are missing the torch) and hundreds of people walking with colorful plastic ponchos (never wear a poncho it makes you look ridiculous) I was close to losing it.

Then something happened.

As Vo and I waited for the light stop to change a black limousine stopped right in front of us. Dressed in a blue dress, with beautiful diamond earrings, out comes Judith Dench from the limousine. The light changed and people crossed the street. I remained stupefied. What the hell was Judith Dench doing in the middle of Times Square at 10 p.m on a rainy Friday? She stood in a corner with her friends smoking and pointing towards the blinding lights and I could read her lips saying “yes, this is just marvelous.” Let it be known that she could have either be referring to the light of the sign promoting Chicago or the yellow and red neon lights of McDonalds. Finally, some people recognized her and without shame were blatantly starring at her.

Drenched from head to toe I was just laughing on the inside about the entire scene. Judith Dench or not, I still hate midtown.

Mary Kate Olsen's twin: Funnyman Jon Lang

Jon Lang, 31, is everything you would expect from a stand-up comedian: cynical, nonchalant and naturally hilarious.

He recently scored his first steady gig as the host of “Recess” a free comedy show that takes place every Monday night at the B Bar on Bowery. Despite having a tremendous intrigue in politics, Lang doesn´t concern himself too much with political themes when his up on stage. This is certainly a breath of fresh air from the politically charged stand-ups that are so popular these days. Lang stirs away from controversial subjects and rather uses his own life experience as inspiration for his skits.

Lang was born and raised in Syracuse, NY. He failed first grade, had his first drink at the age of 12 and hosted wild parties in his parents´ basement. Lang still managed to get the jeep--the best car out of his eight siblings. He wasn´t spoiled, he was just the funny one in the family and his parents were his biggest fans. Since a young age Lang knew he wanted to pursue comedy and thought a degree in film would help him fulfill his dream. However, after getting his film degree at Florida State University, he quickly realized that he wasn´t meant to be behind the scenes. He wanted to be up on stage making people laugh.

He packed his bags and moved to New York to become a stand-up comedian. He settled in Park Slope in Brooklyn where he lives with his girlfriend of five years. But pursuing comedy turned out to be harder than Lang thought. He had to find a job that would help pay the bills. He found one working as a secretary for a pharmaceutical company. He claims to be the only male under 50 years old working this job. Seemingly a sad story, but Lang is an optimistic. His job story is just another source for comedy.

Lang´s passion for comedy is eminent. Despite the few set back Lang hopes to maybe one day be a guest in “The Late Show with David Letterman” and make some money doing stand-up. But for now he´ll settle with making six people laugh on Monday night. Six being the number of people he needs to put up a show.

Why did you start doing stand-up?
That day I graduated from film school I got dumped by my girlfriend, figured out that she was like cheating on me with this loser dude and all this came to me and I was just like “you know what, I want to talk about it.” The place we were hanging out had an open mic and shit so I did a stand-up. But I didn´t call it stand-up. I was just like, “You know what? My girlfriend stopped wearing a bra.” And I had all these other things going through my head and it ended up being pretty funny.

How did you ex-girlfriend take this?
She sued me. What I said was pretty much, you know, as bad as anything that TMZ or Perez Hilton would come up with, kind of raunchy, kind of rude. It felt good at the time. But it turns out that her parents donated a lot of money to Florida State. So the head of the program calls me in, and I thought he was calling me in to tell me “Hey man, I thought you were hilarious.” And he brings me into his office and tells me, “You´re going to need to apologize.” I made good, I apologized.

Describe your worst stand-up moment.
I did an open mic which was pretty much rappers and I was a white comedian in the middle of this. It was totally out of my element. I felt like I was Eminem in like, “8 Mile”. Some people were laughing, some people were smoking pot, and some people were heckling me in, like, the weirdest way. Every time I told a joke, instead of laughing they would literally go “laugh, laugh, laugh” and it was throwing me off so much. And so I just totally got off the script and won them over -- which was like the best thing that could have ever happened.

What´s your audience usually like?
You know, you should talk to me in four years when I have an audience. I wish I could say it was like hot Asian girls, but it´s not.

Speaking of hot Asian girls, tell me about your name. Jon Lang. That sounds kind of Asian.
It´s Polish. It Langowski. I had to cut my name at the border, but my real name is Jonathan Langowski. My middle name is Ling, so it´s Ling Lang. No, that´s a joke. I´m making a joke.

Does humor run in your family? Funny parents?
My mom was convinced that I was supposed to be a twin because when I was born I had enough umbilical cord to sustain another life. She honestly thinks I ate my twin. I am the youngest of seven kids. There´s two on my mom´s side, five on my dad´s side. They came together like in “Full House”. I was like the Olsen twins, I was the cute one and I ate Mary Kate. I was Ashley.

So is this duo your comedic inspiration, or do you turn to comedians for material?
I rely mostly on experiences and things in my life like my family, my job and my friends. Think of “Superbad.” I appreciate the bonding because I feel like that when you´re awkward and strange your guy friends are the closest thing you got for a relationship-- without it being sexual. You open up the world to these guys. You love each other. You´re accepting. That´s where I get my inspiration.

If you weren´t doing comedy, you´d be…?
I think I would be a monk. The fact is, I have a sense of humor so I´d probably stick with that. If I didn´t have my tongue, then I´d probably be a monk. Stand-up comedy, director/writer, movie star--and if none of those work then I´ll sit Indian style, find enlightenment and I´ll be empty in the inside and I´ll join the cosmos.

Shop Shop Shop

I just bought some great earrings at an awesome fashion market. It was last Saturday afternoon, when I was cruising around the LES (Lower East Side for all you non-New Yorkers).

The Market NYC is at 268 Mulberry St (between Houston and Prince streets). There are several vendors selling vintage clothing, jewelry and other accessories. For those not keen on buying hand-me-downs, there are also several stands with new merchandise that I am sure you would be the first to wear.

The prices are not outrageous. And, you can always bargain them down. Thankfully, I went with my grandmother who´s the almighty bargaining genius. She got me some pretty good deals—a DFV black suede jacket for $15 and silver earring with little turquoise stones for $10.

There was so much to see. Stands are placed one after the other and it feels like the merchandise is never ending. We were there two hours, which is a long time, especially when you are with my grandmother who can't make up her mind of whether to buy the blue and black scarf with white thread or the blue and black scarf with red thread. This requires patience.

If you go to the market make sure you don´t miss the stand with the great leather purses located in the back of the room. Purses are made with 100% Italian leather and there's a variety of color. Most of them are clutches with an innovative design that will allow your hands to be free. Clutches may be fashonable but they can be a drag.

The best part of the market is undoubtedly the jewelry stands. Designers from everywhere in the world, including Turkey, Brazil and Peru show of their designs. Studio DuArte owned by Cristina Duarte Veronese offers simple cut pieces bathed in 18 karat gold and other silver pieces. Sehnaz Ozden, owner of Heart of Rubies, offers a variety of vintage jewelry pieces that I nearly had a heart attack when I saw. Huge stones of different colors and designs are cut in the most interesting ways to present rings that are truly one of a kind. There are many other jewelry designers that you definitely shouldn´t miss.

The market is up every Saturday and Sunday usually with the same designers. The merchandise is different every weekend so if you see something, buy it! Next weekend it will probably be gone.

NYU is cool afterall

I dare to say I might have found NYU´s best kept gem. The perfect mix between history, coolness, New Yorkness and most of all, uniqueness, is located on the third floor of Bobst, NYU´s library, at the Fales Special Collection. The collection, donated to NYU in 1957 by DeCoursey Fales in honor of his father, Haliburton Fales, contains around 200,000 volumes and manuscripts in its majority raw footage and original materials. My journalism class and I had the chance to tour Downtown Collection. Post-modern art material from the 19th and 20th century from downtown Manhattan was shown to us by Marvin Taylor, the collections curator.

“I was a punk kid…obviously,” Marvin said. Somewhat sarcastic, somewhat self-centered, overall very passionate about the collection, that he described as his baby. Wearing black converse to work, his graying goatee and openly dissing The Beatles (that was a first time for me), Marvin was as unique as the collection he was presenting. His alternative vibe and his I-don’t-care-what-anyone-thinks-about-me attitude hold true to what I deem definitive of NYU: a bunch of people trying to be different and stand out one way or another. Hey, I play my Latin card as often as I can.

In the Downtown collection, Punk New York was personalized with Patti Smith´s personal journal as display. AIDS New York was epitomized by David Wojnarowicz´s photographs of his HIV infected partner in his death bed. Was it gory? Absolutely. But Marvin saw it as art, and somehow he managed to convince me that it was artistic. Wojnarowicz´s “Magic Box” containing the most interesting artifacts thought to have inspired his art, including a monkey´s skull dyed in blue paint were a good example of experimental art New York. Marvin held the skull up as one would hold up the cure for a terminal disease, proudly and unsure of what it means to have access to it. He´s gleaming eyes really surprised me; who knew that working in a library could be so entertaining?

No News

New York is the kind of city where you´ll find anything from alternative art to the biggest piles of trash, to underwear on the floor, to salsa music and occasional raves, to mice and squatters and leaks, to dead plants and beautiful roses, to gourmet food and soy milk gone bad, etc. (Wow. I just described my apartment for you. Minus the squatters that is). Yet try finding a newsy, interesting story to write about for your journalism class due the next day. Perhaps it´s partly my own fault for choosing the wrong beat (not for leaving homework for the very last minute).

Noho, the area NOrth of HOuston, is too residential and high-end boutique clerks’ don´t usually want to talk to third year journalism undergraduate student.

The interviewing of NoHo locals usually goes like this:

“Hi. Umm, I´m Laura Steiner. I am an NYU journalism student and I am writing a story for my class. The story will be posted in my blog. I was wondering if here is any chance I could ask you a couple questions?”

“Your name is LAUDER?!” No, my name is not Lauder and thank you for pointing that out. I was hoping you wouldn´t notice that I have a raspy voice which has an awkward loud volume. And after that speech I just gave you the only thing you´re going to ask is if my name is Lauder? Really? Then the whole conversation usually turns into a debate between the locals (excluding me) of whether my name is really Lora or Laurrrrrá for those who show-off how well they can role their r´s. This is when I decide to leave, sans story that is.

Sure, there´s news here and there, like The Bowery Poetry Club & Cafe undergoing renovations or the Noho Star, a signature restaurant in the area, finally putting away their popular ice cream cart now that winter is here. If you like poetry and ice cream, I´m deeply sorry.

My beat also includes Little Italy, which at this point should really be called—closetoextinctionusedtobeacharminglittleItalianneighborhood. Little Italy has been gentrified, so as not to say swallowed up, by Asian immigrants and is rapidly disappearing from the downtown map. Italian restaurants, which kept the area alive, are going out of business. Italian waiters, whom are in its majority evidently from New Jersey, try hard to pass as Italians to lure in more customers. But that Jersey accent is hard to hide. It´s not seenoreena! It´s signorina. And for me its principessa, please.

So restaurants are dying and Italians have moved to other parts of the city, primarily to the Bronx and Brooklyn. Big deal, you can Wikipedia that, I don´t need to write a story about it.

And it hit me

Apologies to all of those who were expecting another light-hearted post. There will be more to come. On a more serious note, I´ve come to realize that in order to truly be able to write about New York City, one must not forget 9/11…

I remember seeing Mr. Hickey, my seventh grade Social Studies teacher in my school back in Colombia, starring at the black cloud of smoke displayed on the TV screen. It was 9:59 a.m. and the South Tower of the World Trade Center had just collapsed. It would be 29minutes before its twin would follow suit. Mr. Hickey shook his head in disbelief.

Mr. Hickey breathed New York through his pores; he was uptight, fast-paced and somewhat neurotic. No one was ever late to his class and no one ever spoke out of turn. A great teacher, Mr. Hickey also had that sarcastic sense of humor so definitive of New Yorkers. Self-degradation and mockery became common in our class as we became closer to him. Tall and skinny as he was, his piercing blue eyes nonetheless suggested a strong sense of authority.

On September 11, however, Mr. Hickey sat defenselessly in his chair, his eyes filled up with tears. His face of sadness and confusion shocked me. “Sit wherever you want and do whatever you want,” he told us as we stepped into his class. It was right then when I understood the calamity that had just struck the island of Manhattan.

I came to New York a couple of times after 9/11 and walked around Ground Zero with my mother as she tried to explain to me how devastating these terrorist attacks had been. While at a rational level I understood that this had been a tragedy, I was unable to connect emotionally. That intimate pain I had felt when I saw Mr. Hickey choking up in his own tears did not happen during my mom´s description while at my visits to ground zero, and not even when watching TV reruns of the towers collapsing.

Last Wednesday this changed. I again felt the hollowness and almost tangible sadness that I felt back in 7th grade.

My journalism class and I visited the Tribute WTC Center located 120 Liberty Street. We took a self-guided audio tour which included detailed explanations of what happened that day by survivors and people who risked their lives to save others. One such person was the tour´s narrator, who had worked in the rescue team. His son, a firefighter too, died in the attacks. The narrator said that he felt lucky for he was one of the few people who found his loved one´s body and was able to bury him. The idea that burying your son is considered lucky gives me chills. His voice was heavy and painful, as the voice you would expect someone who had undergone so much tragedy in life.

After the audio-tour, we all walked back in silence to the main area of the WTC where we saw items that were recovered at the debris as well as a display of the chronology of all the events from 9/11—The World Trade Center, The Pentagon and the United 93 flight that fell in Pennsylvania. There was also information on the 1993 bomb at the World Trade Center which killed seven people.

After the exhibit we visited a room where the walls were covered with pictures of people who lost their lives in 9/11. People were smiling, wearing Mexican hats celebrating birthdays, on the beach running around in swimsuits. Putting faces on people who passed away certainly made the experience different, perhaps sadder, perhaps just more vivid.

Afterwards we met with Tracy Gazzani, who told us about the loss of her only son, Terry, on 9/11. She hopes that through her experiences she would be able to help others who also lost loved ones in these tragic days. Gazzani was at times painfully honest, saying that as times goes by the pain gets different but the sense of loss doesn´t get any better.

I think this rings true for about every New Yorker who lived through 9/11.

My Halloween

Halloween is not my favorite holiday. I am not creative, I can´t do arts and crafts and I really don´t like face paint. It makes my face itch. This Halloween, however, my second one in New York, I decided to change my attitude. I vowed to make a creative costume, agreed to cut and paste if necessary, and maybe put on face paint as long as it wasn´t that horrendous white one that makes you look like a sick ghost.

Party #1 was held on October 30th at my friend´s apartment below 14th street. Not sure what costume to wear I turned to my roommate Chloe for help. She´s the creative mind in the apartment. I am just the messy one.

“Let´s go as duo!” she yelled euphorically when I told her I had decided to attend the party. Yes Chlo, we´ll be the perfect duo, you´re 5”1 I´m 5”7, you don´t speak Spanish, my English proficiency is debatable at times, you´re Jewish and I believe Jesus is the son of God. Match made in heaven.

Idea # 1 for a costume was John Lennon and Yoko Ono. For those who don´t know me I have a strange resemblance to Lennon. I think it might be my nose. This idea was creative enough and easy to make. The best part? A 1990´s jean jacket straight out of my father´s closet. I am aware Lennon didn´t make it to the 90s, but if he had he would have absolutely worn Robi´s jacket. Despite the initial excitement we felt, we needed something wittier.

Onto idea #2—let´s be each other! That one went quickly down the drain after we decided that wearing wigs is almost, if not as bad, as face paint.

After being in Screaming Mimi´s for over an hour in search of inspiration and inside three different Halloween stores which all had practically the same costumes we ventured into a West Village sex shop. Not that we found anything there but I thought this would help explain how desperate we were for a costume. That and the fact that my dad is probably scrubbing his eyes to make sure he read this right. Yes dad, sex shop.

Idea #3—Passion Pit! Chlo and I recently went to a Passion Pit concert that left us ecstatic about life. We thought we would honor the band and dress up as them. As the band name to be precise. I would go as a passion fruit and Chlo would go as the fruit´s pit--Passion Pit.

We drew, we cut, we pasted, I ruined Chlo´s shirt with super glue, we folded paper to make the pit 3D and I even pasted candy over my passion fruit seed´s. Pomegranate gummies in case you were wondering. We pasted signs in our backs that read Passion Pit if by any chance people didn´t get our costume. Off we went to the party feeling like the wittiest people to have ever walked the planet.

Big surprise. The guests consisted of people wearing sexy Disney character costumes, a few equally sexy animals and a lot of confused faces as we stepped through the door in our Passion Pit suits. We´ll just turn around so they can read our signs, we thought. Their response? “What the hell is Passion Pit?” My heart broke after those words were pronounced. Needless to say, our costume was an utter failure that night.

October 31st, the real Halloween day came and after many different ideas I finally decided to dress up as Girl Scout. Lame? Yes. But Halloween is a night to bring out the horrific and I personally can´t think of anything more terrifying than the idea of me being a Girl Scout. I hate the outdoors and the outdoors hates me, I have never baked a batch of cookies and the idea of sisterhood and civic awareness are almost as foreign to me as Passion Pit was to my friends from the night before. Scary Halloween Costume? Checked.

In case you were wondering Chlo went as Free Willy. She crafted it all by herself and it was a great success. She was, however, the annoying girl at the party who kept hitting everyone with her back fin.