Chapo Trap House - Bonus: My Podcast with Wally feat. Wallace Shawn

Episode Date: June 28, 2020

Will discusses socialism, art, and the affects of their shared upbringing with playwright, actor and essayist Wallace Shawn.

Hello, friends. It's Will Menaker here, coming at you with a bonus interview. In this episode, I had a chat with the playwright, actor, and essayist, Wallace Sean. Wallace Sean, I'm sure you're familiar with many of the movies he's been in, and sort of a cult character actor, but also you may also be familiar with him as a sort of a political and social critic whose new collection of essays is now out in paperback from Haymarket Book. In this conversation, I talked to Wallace about what it means to be a socialist in this contemporary moment, the limits of thinking art can change the world we live in, and also what it means to be a privileged, fancy lad from the Upper West Side, who is the son of a famous New Yorker editor.

There are many connections here between our two lives that come together, threaded beautifully for you in this interview. So please enjoy my conversation with Wallace Sean. In your essay, why I call myself a socialist. The words socialism, capitalism, Marx, class, the economy, they never appear at all. The implication is the conclusion is left to be assumed, but what does appear is you use words like costume, fantasy, role, casting. Could you talk about this idea about this sort of extended metaphor of how everyone plays parts in this invisible play that they're casting leads one to these very specific political conclusions? Now, it takes me a long time to write things, and I'm smarter when I write them down, obviously.

So the guy who writes is, you know, slowly puts it together. But basically, I suppose I'm saying that actors, and I've been one, understand that we contain many, many, many people inside ourselves, and we could be a king or we could be a thief. And unfortunately, in the real world, people are cast as kings or thieves, sort of at birth, in a way, and they're not allowed to get out of it. But really, people are, in a way, unconsciously faking. They're acting. They're assigned a role, let's say, as a worker. And they eventually learn how to buy the clothes that fit their role. They're not even assigned those clothes. They actually learn how to buy them. They use the accent that other people

in their role use, and they even pitch their intelligence, in a way, to the level of the that they think is expected of them, all unconsciously. But, you know, my point of view is really that probably at birth, everybody has the potentiality to be another Karl Marx or Beethoven. But only Karl Marx or Beethoven and a few other people are allowed to fully use all of their potential. And so this is, if you really take in this idea, which I do only one second out of every day, it's very, very shocking. It means that most people are, in a way, pretending to be stupider and less talented than they really are. And they're forced into that. So, of course, that would make you a socialist. Reading the essay, it reminded me of a game I used to play with

myself taking the subway, you know, either to work or school or whatever. And, you know, you get on the train, you're in the car, you know, all of a sudden you're milling around with a whole bunch of strangers. And I don't know if anyone else has ever done this, but you begin to imagine, oh, like, what if just me and the people in this car were stranded on a desert island? Who would I form alliance with? Who would I have to defeat? Who could I lead? You know, whose skills would be useful? And then, you know, like, there's little, little exercise, but then little by little, you play that game in your head and you begin to imagine the other people around you and think of them as you just realize that, oh my god, each one of these people

have lived every second of their life up until this moment. And then you try to imagine what if I had to live their life or lived every, all those corresponding moments leading up to this. And it almost becomes unbearable in a way. Like, you can't think of it, you can't conceive of it, and it seems so horrible, but you know that, like, you are in the same way as sort of alien to them, as you are to, you know, other people. And that when, like you said, if you're watching a play or seeing a movie, you're taking part in this kind of a shared dream that you're aware of. But when you leave the theater and you get on the subway, you're still in this dream world. And, and, and, you know, you talk about like the dream, this dream that's around us that either we're

aware of and we don't know a way out of, or we're not aware of, like the dream itself is kind of the marketplace. It's capitalism. Like that's the part that we're playing that we're engaged in. Yeah. I, what a wonderful game. Yeah. So like, you know, you know, on this stage or whatever, like what are some of the, what do you think like some of the strategies like people use to, like, let's say they're aware of it, like you said, if they, you know, dedicate a second of their day to this passing thought. But what are some of the strategies we use to sort of protect ourselves from this, this illusion or, or to continue on thinking that like, this is all very fair, or even if things

appear to be unfair, they're getting better, or anything different would be a worse calamity than the situation that we find ourselves in now. What are some of the words that they use, or ideas that, that, that govern this strategy of coping and do you find? Why, that's a very tough question. I mean, really, we take for granted, even the most broadly sympathetic and, and outrageously out of the box thinkers, we take for granted 99% of the people that, that we meet. I mean, we may, let's say at this particular moment, see one face of an African American worker who is, is cleaning the street. And we may see in that face, oh my God, this man, I could picture him being the governor of New York.

I, he seems so sensitive, so intelligent. Why is he cleaning the street? He could, he could do anything. That's because of the things that are happening at this moment in, in New York. But most of the people that we see, we just take for granted, and they do too, of course. I mean, most people take their own role for granted. I mean, I was raised in a way with, with the kind of, not just the arrogance to think that I could be a successful businessman, but the even greater arrogance of thinking I could be absolutely anything. So I'm unaware of my own costume and role and persona. Although of course I, I actually walk into the street. I look as much like what I am, which is a sort of vaguely, I don't know, slightly Bohemian

writer, an actor, whatever. People could tell that I am that. But in my own mind, I'm, I could be anything. And in my good moments, I realized that everybody could be. And that is what is the excitement of theater and acting. Because actors do know that they're not kidding. They're actually, they're pretence that they are a king is, is really just a revelation of a true part of themselves. Yeah. And you talk about how in a way, what an actor does on stage, being the king, playing the king or the thief, is they're communicating something that already exists within them inside themselves and is in a way more authentic than the person that they are outside of the theater or outside of that role. Yeah. The person that you are in your day-to-day life is also a part that you just are

sort of slot into that, that is, is as sort of invented as a character that you're playing. It is invented. I mean, even though you in a way participated in making it up, it is invented. And, you know, people are aware to varying degrees that they could bust out of it. Certainly, if people take a trip, go to a different country, the thought dawns on them. I mean, particularly if they're alone, I don't have to be the guy that I was back at home. I could be quite different. In fact, I could be anything. It strikes me that a lot of the, a lot of the essays in this book and what you're writing about, like, sort of do deal with this idea of privilege, which is, which is a word and a concept that's very much in vogue now in political discourse. It's this idea

of like, you know, I think you and I have actually sort of broadly similar backgrounds and an upbringing in a number of interesting ways. But it's this idea of, like, once you become aware of it, is it like, oh, like, you know, you're confronted with like the idea that, well, there's, it's really just luck that has sorted me out into a life of this, you know, relative ease and comfort certainly is in comparison to everyone else in the world, but also that I would end up the type of person who could pursue a life of arts and letters. And then, but then once you're aware of that, I think now like the idea is that you're supposed to sort of acknowledge it publicly. But like, in doing that, is there even a way out of it? Like, in these public declarations of,

you know, how your accidental lot in life has sorted you out higher on the heap than everyone else? Is it sort of you feel guilty about it? You know, how do you deal with it? You let that thought in your head for a second every single day? It's sort of, well, where do you go from there? Like, is that an act of morality or is it the beginning of a kind of like a way out of it? Well, when I first, I was certainly 40 or so before any of that dawned on me, really. I previously had thought of myself as an observer, not a participant in the great game of life. I mean, I thought I was watching all these strange people doing different things. And some of it was upsetting, terrible things were happening. But I didn't have any awareness really of my own,

no clear awareness. I had a vague awareness at moments. But when I was around 40, I did develop a very vivid awareness of being privileged. And I had hoped at the time, that possibly I was going to shock myself into discovering a way that I could be different. And I was hoping to be more challenged by other people about the, let's say, contradiction, or at least it's a paradox, that you could denounce privilege and inequality, but at the same time, enjoy the privilege and not give it up. I was hoping that more people would call me a hypocrite and almost force me to live in some different way, perhaps. I mean, these were vague and co-aged thoughts. I've always been someone who enjoyed everything that you could get from privilege. I would be very unhappy if

I had a lunch that I didn't enjoy. Me too. I felt I deserved three very agreeable meals every day. And obviously, not obviously, but in fact, I admired the people that I grew up with. And they seemed to be very honorable and decent people. And I developed a habit long before I was 40 of what you could call hedonism, just enjoying the privileges of privilege. I enjoy going to a concert. I enjoy going to a restaurant, et cetera. Then when I was 40 and coming up with these new thoughts, I was in a lot of conflict and I still am as I'm talking to you today. But I didn't so far. Well, I fell into a way of making a living that didn't quite bring me up to the level that I lived in when I was 10 years old. I still would count as downward mobile in most

ways. But really by chance, or maybe not, I fell into a profession where I was well paid. And I never really thought that I'd taken that up as a full time profession to be an actor. I thought of it as a weird way to pay off my debts and to continue writing. But because my plays were not very well respected, or they were even hated by a lot of people who saw them and most people never heard of them. And my acting was amusing to many people and had somehow a popular touch that my writing lacked. I became seen as an actor. And I made a good salary from that. And so my life is a contradiction in a certain way. Yeah. I mean, the book, a lot of the essays are sort of interrogating this

inner doubt or being sort of haunted by this idea of sort of imagining, you know, you can extend it out from like, you know, the doorway to, you know, a nicely appointed apartment in Manhattan, all the way out to the, you know, the police that make sure no one kicks it in to the military, the globe spinning military that make sure that all the resources keep coming in that we can enjoy a nice walk through the park in Manhattan. So it's like sort of being haunted by this sense that you are unwittingly conscripted in being a sort of a client or advocate of empire by just pure accident of existing and finding yourself in this world. And sort of, yeah, like playing with a sense of like, you know, how do you be a moral person? Or like, you know,

when morality doesn't chrude, like how do you deal with it like in that context? I suppose, well, I would say my life in certain ways is an obvious failure. Of course, like a lot of writers and people who would be interviewed by somebody, of course, I hope that somehow what I've written or what I'm saying or is going to inspire some person who is smarter and and more courageous than I've been not dead yet. But so far, I have not moved the game forward, let's say. But maybe something that I wrote, read by someone who knows nothing about me would be inspiring to somebody. That's what, of course, I hope. But a lot of pretty uninspiring writers have the same hope. And, you know, we won't know until we'll never

know. I mean, I mean, if we live long after our own deaths, we might find out about it. We might figure it out. Well, yeah, you mentioned that this sort of, you didn't consider these things until you were 40. And I guess like, did you have a sort of road to Damascus moment where you realized, oh, wow, like I'm a socialist or like a or a kind of, you know, what I meant is in a sort of a standard kind of like a liberal upbringing was suddenly insufficient for you or seemed in a way hollow or, you know, not adequate to the world that surrounded you? Or was it a more gradual process of getting there? It probably it was quite gradual, you know, say between the age of 38 and 43. It was there were people and events along the way. I mean, I, you know, and

I think this is how change happens that you meet people and they say something to you and you you don't understand it at the time, but it sticks with you. I mean, I had a teacher in high school who was teasing a couple of kids from very elite oligarchic families in Latin America. And at dinner, we were all sitting around and he was teasing these kids by saying that someday the peasants were going to rise up. And I didn't even know what in the world he was talking about or why he was teasing these kids or I couldn't tell how they were feeling. But I never forgot the little conversation. And it just it really came back to me, you know, 25 years later. I met a guy, a very radical guy who was actually running I think CCNY at the time

is no longer living, Joe Murphy at a fancy party in New York City. And Joe Murphy had no time for me. He thought he thought that there was something smug and complacent about me. And then I seemed to think I was cute and amusing. And in his mind, I was a totally clueless fraud or an idiot. And he for some reason, went after me at this party. And we we sort of had this long conversation at the time, I only thought, what an uncouth, rude guy. I've done nothing to him. And he's got some kind of insane reason for attacking me. But that conversation came back to me. What was some of the what? How did he, how was he, how was he roasting you? What was he breaking you over the coals for? Just just being a sort of like a kind of a rich liberal like artist,

dilettante type or what? I think that yes, that was, I mean, I think he thought I had absolutely no awareness of my own, for instance, of the fact which, which you know, well, I mean, that that everything that happened to me was all as a consequence of not merely having gone to the schools and the having all the childhood privileges that I had, but, but because my father was a well known and respected man. It he knew all this before I even walked into the room, but I didn't really know it. And I think, you know, he was, he was getting at me about it. I didn't know what he was talking about. But, you know, a lot of things came together, psychological changes that I don't understand myself. But I came to a position of sort of

white hot loathing of myself. And everybody sort of in a way almost, you could say everybody in my situation. So it got very intense. And I'm not an intense person, I suppose, I'm kind of bland, but it got quite intense. And, you know, there were even occasions when I crossed the line of politeness, and which is a little bit unthinkable for me. And my awareness that there was blood on the hands of a lot of people, including myself, you know, led me to behave rudely. And then I got into it, and educated myself a bit, did more reading, and traveled. I was so upset, and in such a state that my habitual cowardliness, physical cowardice, it became less important to me than discovering more about the world. And I traveled a little bit.

But my girlfriend is indifferent to danger in a way she didn't mind at all. So I have always been hyper aware of danger and, you know, really would never go out in the rain without my galoshes. But I traveled in some places that were frightening to try to learn more. I read more. I even read Karl Marx. Movement looks like, you know, this time goes on like we get closer to the present here from being attacked at a party by a CCNY professor. There are essays in the book that deal with, you know, America's response to 9-11, the lead up to the Iraq War, Israel's attack on Gaza, one of the many they've done. And, you know, writing about these things in a climate, you know,

certainly leading up to the Iraq War or if you're talking about Israel, like a climate in which, like, there is such hegemonic opinion, at least in the moment, where you feel insane. Like, am I think in Crazy One or is the entire country just gone mad? And then you start to think of your role like as an artist. Like, doesn't that, like, confronted with the enormity of it, like, does art ever play a role? I mean, it's just like, I remember Kurt Vonnegut had a quote about how, like, you know, we saw the sum total of, like, America's entire artistic energies dedicated against this war and it landed with the thud of a pie being dropped from a, like, a stepladder. Like, that's how much power it counted for in stopping the war or, you know, changing anything.

But yet at the same time as an artist, you sort of, like, you have to tell something, you have to tell somebody, you have to tell some truth. I mean, so how do you go about communicating a point of view in a work of art and sort of even knowing that, you know, at the end of the day, it's just that people in charge, it's not going to make a difference. Well, I don't any longer see it quite that way. I mean, I did write a play called The Fever in which I make a lot of fun of artists and denounce them in a certain way and mock the idea that an artist could change the world for the better or that a piece of writing could. And I do think we do a lot of self-deceiving in the world and I would, you know, sort of laugh

at anybody who believed that their own writing was going to make an enormous difference. And of course, Kurt Vonnegut is right in the sense that, you know, the Vietnam War went on and on after a lot of artists had complained about it. All those good songs didn't do anything. Yeah. And the Iraq War did happen, even though people wrote poems pleading for it not to happen. But my actual view is that, and it's illustrated by a guy like Trump, you know, this is ignorance and intellectual crudeness overall, I think are bad for the future of humanity. And I think my view of the role of art is that it might make people smarter

and that it might provide ideas of what life could be that are different from triumphing over others, squashing weaker people. I mean, this is, you know, what is the goal of one's life? For some people, it's superiority, winning as Trump uses a word he uses a lot. I mean, what does he want? What is life for him? What is meaningful for him? Obviously, wealth, superiority, trampling on the ones he has contempt for, weaker people, whatever. That's not the only way that a human being can live. There are other goals. And, you know, yes, I do think that if people were more interested in Beethoven's quartets, that they'd be smarter, and they would be interested in a kind of life that is

better than the kind that, for instance, Trump would think is ideal. Yeah, I mean, it would seem like Trump as a national figure and then even as a celebrity figure even before that would be probably one of the best advertisements I could think of of the illusion that having money will make you happy or a better person because he is transparently miserable all the time. Like, there's nothing he does or acquires. I mean, even becoming president is just, it compounds his misery. It appears. Yeah, it's not, it didn't do it for him at all. He was angry and upset from day one. And he's only become more so. Now it's almost pitiful. Yeah. You know, obviously the idea of, you know, art

and artists as being revolutionaries or changing the world while they're alive is a funny idea. And it's always sort of ripe for satire. But I like the idea that the goal of art is to make people smarter or more humane in the future or allowing people, maybe even generations from them to imagine a different way of being, a different way of living. But as long as we're talking about Trump now, like talking about like this fantasy world that we all inhabit, this fantasy that governs all of us, that if we just thought about it for a second and just said, this is crazy, let's stop, it would all break down. Does the, having someone like Trump who, you know, the thing that amazed me about him being president is that it just, it really seems like

the movies that I watched and were obsessed with as a kid in the 80s and 90s, like sci-fi movies about a future dystopian reality for America, he is exactly not just a person like him being president, but him specifically being president would be something that would be featured in those movies. And if they were, you might think it was a little too on the nose when you watched it at the time. So having a reality now that is so artificial, that is so fantastical, you'd think that that would break people out of this kind of fantasy that we live in more and more. But like, I find that like, the more reality catches up to our imaginations of a previous era, the more thoroughly entrapped in it we are. Do you know what I mean? Yeah, I mean, of course, what's shocking

now is that something I wouldn't have believed could happen seems to be happening, which is that people with the help of the social media and internet, whatever, can sort of create a fantasy world for themselves that they believe to be real. And certainly many of Trump's supporters can surround themselves with images and words that make them think that the world he describes is the real world. So that the horror movie, which to them is delightful entertainment, seems absolutely real to them. I mean, maybe this is just a fantasy that I'm having about them as I sit in New York, I don't know. Yeah, speaking about like, reality intruding on fantasy and one of your essays, the 101 Superiority, you talk about the phenomenon of how waiters behave at like,

the highest level of really fancy restaurant. And you talk about how at like a nice cool restaurant, the waiter is expected to sort of let you in on a little bit about themselves, sort of riff with you, be personable. But at the highest tier of restaurant you can go to, they're just sort of like, they're ghosts like presences, they're unobtrusive is the word that you use. And there's this phenomenon of unobtrusiveness sort of governing and dictating so much of what we take for granted about our day to day lives in this country. Could you talk a little bit more about unobtrusiveness in light of this current moment of not just coming out of quarantine, but like the protests that are now happening all over the country seem to be a sort of moment of

intense obtrusiveness on this reality? Well, that does seem to be a very conscious intention of the protests that have scruplessly avoided poorer neighborhoods and have intentionally gone to Soho and Beverly Hills and demanded to be seen. People have, of course, the existence of the cell phone video has made it possible for the ordinary person to see five cases of unimaginable police brutality. That's hardly the word when you kill somebody of police killings. You can see five of them in a row in the space of three minutes. And I think it's, you know, very significant. And I think it has shocked a lot of people, a lot of people, because you can't, you see the racism. You can't deny the fact that these policemen who we select for their,

let's say, toughness, but what is revealed is that we've selected sadistic people who are out of control and want to inflict pain, particularly on people of color. I mean, you see it in the faces of these policemen. And I mean, they didn't just walk into the station house and get the job. We hired them. We decided in each case, the sort of people that we want to be policemen. So it's, of course, it's an expression of all of us, but it's been secret. It's been very secret. And the unobtrusive people who are being killed and beaten up are insisting that everybody look at it. And, you know, that's who knows what will come of this, but something maybe. Yeah, no. But I mean, to go back to the original metaphor that we were

discussing about the theater and the stage and playing roles, it's like the cell phone video, then the immediate proliferation of this evidence here is like, it really forces people to cross that bridge of imagination that is necessary to play a role or to imagine another person's life and happening that. It's the video of it really is like a violent, it forces you to make that leap. Because if you read about it or hear about it, it's easy to push it away or imagine something differently. Whereas if you said, if you see these videos, and it's not just one, there are dozens and dozens and dozens of, if not killing, then outright, just cruelty, just pure intentional cruelty and sadism. And you see the person suffering, and it forces you to be in that role

or imagine yourself in that role for even a second. And the question is, like, you know, how much do we still push it away? Or how much is that unbearable to do or not tenable anymore? Well, I mean, obviously, in the case of war, in the 1980s, I suppose I was guilty of believing if only people knew about these horrible atrocities, they would stop them. This is what I believed about the American public. This was very vividly revealed to be untrue. So that, in fact, the worst things have gotten, the American public has, instead of being horrified and revolted, they've taken it on board and they've said, yes, well, torture, for example, we thought we were against it ten years ago, but now that we're doing it, and now that we see

photographs of it, we accept it. Maybe we even like it. And somebody like Trump goes pretty far towards saying, yes, we don't only accept it, we like it. In fact, in 2016, I think he said, I think he said, we ought to have more torture. And people, 40% of the country likes it. So you can only hope that the videos of policemen killing people of color, you can only hope that it will horrify people rather than absolutely delight them. We don't know or become more normal. Yeah, that's how it is. That's what we do. And if you read, I just was reading the a few responses to the fact that the New York Times staff, many people were upset by the op-ed where the senators said that the army should take on the protesters or whatever,

or take on the demonstrators, take on what he called the looters or whatever. Many, many people wrote to say these incredible stupid snowflakes at the New York Times don't recognize this is what we like. We want the military and the cops to be tough on these people. So let's hope that it goes the right way. I guess we're turning again to the original essay and the way you sort of describe the reality that we live in that is governed by a capitalist hegemony. But you don't talk about it in those terms. And then outside of the title, I feel like if you were to give that essay to almost anyone, they would find that something in it that they agree with or that they know to be

true from a Christian sense, from a moral sense, religious or ethical otherwise. But when you start introducing words like capitalism or hegemony or neoliberalism or whatever, people they'll go in a different direction or they won't take it on or they'll come to an opposite conclusion. But understanding that, how do you imagine the average person who's not a political radical or considers themselves, I don't know, vaguely liberal or just apolitical? How do you think that they imagine the marketplace or the economy or capitalism? How do you think they imagine it works in their head when they fill in those gaps? What's the story they tell themselves about it? That's a very tough question. I don't know. I suppose the average American

thinks that we all start out with a fair chance and those who put in more effort rise up higher and earn more money and therefore they get to dominate the marketplace and they can buy the things they want and people who are lazy and don't work hard have less. I suppose that's what the average American thinks. Although things have changed so much in the last 10 or 20 years, the ideas that I expressed in some of these essays were shared by very few people when I wrote them. But now there are millions and millions of people who support Bernie Sanders or who have seen Michael Moore's movies and totally agree. I don't know if that many, I mean, there's a hard core, obviously, and I wish I understood them better. Obviously, the Trump base, whatever that is, 40%

of the American people, they think they haven't quite made it yet, but maybe they think that they would have if there hadn't been, I don't know, food stamps. But I mean, it's not only just the Trump base, right? I mean, you brought up Bernie Sanders. So much of the liberal establishment, that they talked about him and conceived of his campaign or communicated with the messages they communicated to the public through their newspapers and cable channels and whatnot, on something as simple as universal health care. I mean, there was all these ways around it from people who are good liberals down the line who believe in all the right things and support the right causes. But when it comes to something as simple as universal health care, found all of

these ways to mystify the issue or distract themselves from it or say that actually, it's impossible or I think cover up for what is deep down inside of their own belief that not everyone does deserve the same quality of health care. Because I deserve it in some way. I've worked for it. It gets back to this original thing of why am I in the position of my life of being a good upper middle class liberal in a major American city? Well, I think people feel that if they're in a good situation, they deserve it. I mean, either because they've worked hard or even because they're good people or people almost, I mean, to use a metaphor, I suppose, the artistic world, people who are very successful artistically, who are make money as artists, they believe

that the best artists rise to the top and are discovered and become successful. And they're they're skeptical of the idea that there are good artists or great artists who are neglected and who right now are broke or not very well recognized. That's just the way people seem to be. Whereas whereas, obviously, people who are not doing well don't believe that. They think that, yes, it's quite possible for a great artist to be ignored and, you know, not do very well. Okay, last question for you, Wallachian. I assume you are in New York City at the moment? I am, yes. Okay. Around where you are, are you experiencing hearing fireworks after dark? And if so, what do you make of this this firework craze going on in New York City right now? Is it

innocent summer fun or something more menacing? I think it's it's the unobtrusive saying that we exist. I mean, I think it is my interpretation. I hear tremendous amount of fireworks. My interpretation is that people are setting off these fireworks precisely so that we would all ask ourselves, why is there what it's it's only June, it's not the 4th of July yet, why are they setting off these fireworks? Who are they? Why are they doing something illegal and unexpected? And, you know, I think it's a form of expression, which I think looting is also, you know, it's a form of saying, you know, we exist. And obviously, a looted store can represent the, you know, the end of some very good person's dreams, whereas

fireworks are don't hurt anybody, but both are forms of expressing that same sentiment, I think. A sort of a break with the unobtrusive social order. Yeah, it's a way of saying, yeah, I'm not going to be quiet anymore. I want you to see me. Wallace Sean, I want to thank you so much for spending the time with me and spending time to talk things over. Thank you very much. Thank you so much. Yes, terrific. Yeah, this is a pleasure. Thanks a lot. Okay, you be well.