“Like a virgin / Touched for the very first time…”

One can only reveal to someone that one is not a virgin once.

“11) Sex is a good way to cement a place in a relationship and make it serious.”
Agree. But, I mean, I’d also agree that it’s a bad way to cement a place in a relationship and make it serious.

A pocket full of lie: Counting out money, setting a dainty dish before the king, the queen’s honey, and roguish overanalysis.

“Sing a song of sixpence…”

Matter is a male mattress.

Nothing to sneeze at.

“Oh yeah / I’ll tell you something / I think you’ll understand…”

Dialogue: Hand, to mouth

I didn't want my reaction to your being honest to be negative, be it critical or fearful or guilt. I wanted some level of: okay, we can do this.

Share: Hand, in hand

That's what I value in physicality. The expression of being wanted, acceptance of wanting, that just doesn't work without awareness or sensitivity.

Comfort: Hand, shake

“…I want to hold your hand…”

Did the apple feel any guilt for the original sin?

Is there goodness in humanity sufficient to not make destructive mistakes? Is there goodness in humanity sufficient to recover from mistakes having been made?

I have made destructive and self-destructive choices to people close to me, despite it not being my intent. And even if wanted and deserved, I can’t in venting my misanthropic rage selfishly prioritze my own emotional want. If I am satisfied by my own behavior, then the rest of the world's is immaterial.

That's what I feel guilt about. He, to not hurt a friend, refrained from you. That same night, I didn't, despite knowing that a friend didn't want me to, the friend being you.

- $
- programs
+ curtain
+ box I'd/monoxide
- singing
+ taking S[]’s suggestion
- changing Canadian parliament to Canada
+ funny
- confusing
+ leap onto the table
- not listening
+ prop DVD/ invisible DVD player
++ Auschwitz
+ B[] not laughing on the backline during M[]’s monologue.
+ shirtless
- rejecting a suggestion
- explaning a joke
- shortform
+ recovering neatly
+ funny
- singing
+ good lines
+ extra game since extra time
- A[]
+ spaghetti arms
+ pizza

(?) is the ultimate in self-doubt, to be unsure whether one is unsure.

Different couch, different shirt, different night, same game.
This will only end badly.

Oh god she’s beautiful. Oh god she’s beautiful. Oh god what is she doing with her leg,

Siberian exile
Spreading the party line
Being a loyalist
Looking the other way
Violent nepotism

Libations of camaraderie, comrades liberated.

It’s red and evil and makes a humorous topical political statement.

Let’s give communism a try, even if it involves giving the shirt off my back.

“Shout, shout, let it all out…”

The summer after my sophomore year I was subletting an apartment on Wash. Ave., and one day I had a fight with my then-best friend and was playing music loudly. The person upstairs came down at the noise, and I felt bad for disturbing her, so I told her that I was just having a bad day, and I'd be quieter. She came back later that evening and left me some extra brownies she had.

Yell as loud as you need.

“‘He was shifty. And, I mean, he was pretending to be shifty- but then he also seemed shifty underneath that.’”

Unsuspending disbelief like a bad horror film

Why is someone listening to me give date advice? Why am I giving good date advice? I sound like I know what I'm talking about: ‘Find something you want to do and do it with her.’

Crashing like the snow.

“Are you having an existential crisis because you gave someone good advice?”
Thanks, that’s a really good way of putting it.

Crazy like a loon.

That quote, even in the context of my life right now, did not seem to make sense.

Shouldn’t should.

“We will meet accidentally / We'll start to talk…”

Run into someone you haven’t seen for years
Get stood up
Sit down
Watch
Office
Drop by work
Go to a store
Go shopping
Buy a DVD
Return a DVD
Buy a book
Do something nice for someone
Get the mess out of your hair
Take a trip
Tell me about your day

Twice over
Cake

“…With a short skirt / And a long jacket…”

“You think you lost your love…”

[jeI] : [jiæ] :: excitement : agreement

“…Yeah, yeah, yeah…”

Subconscious haunt should've
Risen above
Shame proclaiming in name of love
Not her I'm thinking of.

Given infinite time, anything is possible to create; for creation is the act of assembling components, and components are finite. Memory is thus an act of creation; for to remember is to recall existing components. Things forgotten are not permenantly lost, but merely await the rediscovery of their order, confirmed by recognition. But even were time not unlimited, the mind is not perfect. Recognition fades.

I am fortunate for the memories that I have archived, scrawled, typed, in basement storage. Part of me feels that I can never die until the archive is complete. The other part of me feels that completion is only necessary so long as I am alive.

Shoplifting is an extreme activity. Either it is done to the expensive because the cost is too significant, or to the cheap because the cost is insignificant.

Rickrolling jumps the shark on the Macy's Day parade.

Fun will be taken away capriciously. Personal preferences require justification. Sharing is bad. I learned from an early age the penalty of judgmentalism; at a late age that empathy is an acquired skill. The ability to understand how another feels is a closely guarded secret, from which comes the necessity of deceit. For lies are born from both the repeated rationalizations and from the omissions that become learned as necessary.

Memories are composed of thoughts and of sensations. Actual events are replaced by the lessons of what will be done differently next time. I remember how I felt, what I thought. That is what happened.

Can give recompense in food, money, and/or truth.

Quantum of Solace, more a continuation than a sequel, requires comparison to a predecessor. Rather than worry about the dichotomy, it chooses to overwhelming follow the patterns set by Casino Royale. The world it takes place in features morality is reflected by the lack of perfect rejoinders and smooth characters, and poise. The evolution of identity was worth ducking out of work early to see.

“When the other person not only makes you feel insecure but actually seems to want to destroy you, it's obviously the end. The Quantum of Solace stands at zero. You've got to get away to save yourself."

First rule about being a guy: don’t neglect the needs of the girl you’re in bed with.

Always have an exit strategy: flee the state, call in a favor, give a fake name, coopt the innocent. Lay and lie: put things in place.

You seriously believed me? Wow. You believed the we’re-friends-again part too, didn’t you.

Friends will be there when you’re not; invite you to their party; leave their own party to pick you up when stranded; loan you 2 boxers for a brief visit; shake your hand and pull you out; thank you with a kiss, a pineapple, and here’s my phone number; and don’t say hurtful things to each other.

“Say what you need to say…”

It’s miserable to realize that if the past 2 hours had been spent doing laundry instead of at the career center, at least some of my life would have gotten in order. It’s depressing to then spend the next 2 hours failing at the laundry.

Disrobe, lie bare, and let the naked truth be exposed in the bitter cold of the impending winter.

The ditch by the side of the road called. It wants to know where I was last night.

Midnight bacon works most times, but some nights require 10:30 calamari.

Did you already have an American Beauty one started?
No, I’m doing one about squid.
Did you already have a squid one started?

I like whimsy and creativity.
I like nostalgia. So I can be, ‘Hey, it's rabite but pink! Aw, I remember rabite.’.
Yeah, I'm like, ‘Seriously? Killer purple fluffy mushroom? Yeah, you barely eked by with that one the first time around, Squaresoft.’.
It would be neat if real life were like that. Like there's a blonde you somewhere out there, and later on, a pink-haired one.

The Pure Land is the last beautiful place you go to; a lingering beauty in a sea of ugly, where one cannot go back to.

Pyramid, already a clever game, is elegant because the Winner’s Circle round is not merely an exciting bonus round, but a built-up tapering of the prior round. In the earlier round, clues must be given for things in a category to be guessed. In the later round, things must be given for a category to be guessed.

There are 2 types of gameshows: Those I know from GSN, and those I admit to watching.

Sound on, sound off.

I hate November

Everyone is judgmental and lies about it really well.

If someone tells you that honesty is the best policy, they're lying.

Good riddance to hypocrisy.

“Why did you just buy a pint of milk?”
I’m going to a pumpkin party. <pulls out box of pumpkin spice pudding>
“<gapes> Oh.”
You really should know better than to ask me that kind of question.

The proof is in.

Why did we ever even bother with jello.

“Wait, are you asking me to be an antiwingman?”

Even insanity needs a getaway driver.

“…That's the reason you're here, mighty wingman / You're taking one for the team…”

Lack of control is the stamp of nightmare, be it creator unable to control creation or individual at the mercy of an inevitable higher power.

Veterans.

1) Overcharging students
2) Putting subliminal messages in endcap signs
3) That obnoxious buyback woman who sighs, and whines about everything, and demands to speak to someone about how outrageous it is that we aren't giving her more money, and just has a thoroughly unpleasant attitude- every single semester
4) The poltergeist in the Architecture section that always messes up the books there no matter how often you straighten
5) Destroying books and magazines in front of customers
6) ActiveDirectory
7) Finding invoices
8) Plotting to annex GM, enslave their workers, pillage their merchandise
9) Nibbling on candy, then putting it back so no one notices
10) Slack-off-Sundays
11) Getting M[] in trouble

Passa recaptiva.
“Crazy” (in love), which is
Girlstruck repeating the
Same hope, becomes

Synonymetric’ly
“Insanity”, which is
Somehow expecting some
Diff’rent outcomes.

Get off, unwrought romance
That won’t advance
Past passed reflection, nor’ll entrance
By chance of second chance.

So Rent is 3 Musketeers?
But the question is, what’s the Snickers?
Fight Club?
No, Fight Club’s the Milky Way. Snickers is Candy.

Candy is not even mostly a drug. It’s a relationship, albeit just as addictive.

Heaven is being together and happy.
Earth is being together and miserable.
Hell is being apart because you’ve realized that you can’t be happy together.

I can’t take vitamins seriously.

Closer to home: going in circles but seeing straight.

“We've been waiting all our lives / For things we've always had…”

I woke up this morning someplace new. The sun was shining. I reached for my glasses. The right side was broken; it had broken sometime last night.

“…But have no eyes to see…”

A beautiful woman appeared before me, telling me how I got here and what had happened; and apologizing for how she couldn’t stay and how she had things she needed to go do now.

“…Something new is going to happen / The most natural thing / But nothing we'd expect…”

There was a note above me:
“Obama is President.
(Feel free to sleep here)”

“…All these buildings and mountains…”

[Feed the starving pollworkers! Anyone willing to bring food to Glenridge Elementary can earn serious awesome points.]

No one even has a pro-McCain argument any more. The best they can do is anti-Obama.

The tragedy of this campaign is how greatest strengths are greatest weaknesses.
The salvation of this election is how greatest weaknesses are greatest strengths.

“Yes we can…”

Rachel Getting Married is a paean to Stoicism.

I called non-emergency police about kid, gave Calypso fresh water/food/litter, sent an e-mail that A[] will think I'm crazy for, and am getting breakfast with you in the morning. I think that's a good a place as any to call it a night.

It’s been a long night.
It’s going to be a long November.

Of Thee I Sing: 148 lamb chops, a bridge joke, and the best darned corn muffins you ever ate. Really, that’s all I need.

I’m a Stoic/I’m not a Stoic
Didn’t find what I needed/Got what I wanted
Carried away should be/Never get carried away should be

Pirates vs. Caesar, the Republic in the balance. Go over a bridge, through a wall, from fire to ice, turn neither left nor right, out the passenger door in the left turn lane, say hello, say goodbye, explain tomorrow, live for the chaos wherever/wear-ever/we’re ever chance might take.

“And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding…”

The annoying thing about translating Greek poetry is that it has too many nouns whose nuance is struggled to be found until the professor reveals that, actually, it’s a name, so that you hate that person for having a stupid name, but with them already being so dead that you're translating their funerary epigraph, what can you do.

The dreams of happiness? The dreams of sweet?
The dreams of some creature named Felix.

You have a Voice. I like that.
Easiest assignment ever- took zero time. Woke up, printed xanga entry, handed in.
It's weird just how much of English class is teachers trying to drum voice out of you. Then you get to the real world and discover that the trick is to find yourself.

1st: italics
2nd: bold
3rd: quoted

My voice doesn’t say whom.

Anti-Turing Test
Whether a computer can correctly determine whether a message has been automatically generated by a computer or composed by a human.

You are a great writer, even if google does think you're a robot.

The problem with shopping at Target is that they have many of what one wants but little of what one is looking for.

Ob’ession

I am very good at writing very bad poetry.

Blue daffodils of silence in a field of crimson drear’,
Virgil, attest to
Nothing
And turn to mine lonely voided plate, 'pon which lay
A thought
Of
The salmon roll, with ricelets hung dropped from seaweed sheath
Askew in throat, wherein the missing plaint,
“O Featherbottom! Hamilton! Virgil! Four!”
Ricochet back down my trachea-“Sir Piddlesworth Uppington Smythe, please pass the wasabi.”

Facebook RSVPing is a protocol dependent on interpersonal relationships as much as on projected attendance.

Breakfast: cereal
Lunch: bagel, yogurt
Dinner: eggs, toast, fruit
Midnight: bacon

“Can never have too much bacon.”

“Millennium…”

It’s amazing how little and how much of the world can change from one glimpse to the next.
(The best I’ve found is Paris Hilton.)

“…We all enjoy the madness ‘cause we know we're gonna fade away…”

She has mastered the fine art of jumping into boxes she cannot jump out of.

Unemerging.

Jump is an overstatement. More like, climb onto the chair next to, and fall down from. It’s adorably awkward in a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you kind of way.

Searching for meaning in an Oliver Stone movie about George W. Bush should only be done for the sake of rampant overanalysis. The film has a focus-losing hodgepodge that it more amusing for the real-life moments it recalls than for what is actually presented on screen. The film seems to lack any other artistic or thematic purpose until perhaps the final scene, revealing that George W. Bush isn’t a tragic figure at all. For, while the film does explore the myriad of options, he lacks a tragic flaw; thus, it’s instead a farce.

Everyone needs to do something crazyspontaneous over Fall Break at least once.
Everyone needs to sleep through their flight departure at least once.

I’m going to be horizontal now.

There is no problem with delving into illogic and abandoning whatever point was actually supposed to be argued, if there is the opportunity to establish something tangential more aesthetic, be it an admission of the acceptability of lying, or simply an ironic statement regarding the divine.

When the urge to *run* without regard to destination is felt, there are 3 kinds of places to flee to:
1) To a generic location.
2) To a foreign culture.
3) As far away as possible.

Essentially: Columbus, Madrid, New Zealand.

[This list could include the base case: 0) Out of sight, which corresponds to Inside.]

Presidential debate could use a little less accusative and a little more ablative.

Cats operate on a logic, their own.

How geos?
I'm writing an autobiography. I started yesterday.
Oh?! That's awesome. Don't forget the part where mom and dad adopted you from a moose farm.
I'm old enough to finally know?
I guess so, yes.
How geos with you?
I'm applying to culinary school.
Don't forget the part where mom and dad taught you how to grill moose.
Oh, they told you that was moose? It was your second brother. They didn't like him much.
He needed more salt.
I agree. Maybe some curry?

Thai together.

“What’s the difference between green curry and red curry?”
“You could ask the waitress.”
That’s one option. Or, you could go out, get an iPhone, and look it up online.

Contemplating days, dates, and the difference between.

I’m too old for this.

Tears pour out: torn until
The heart lies still
I grieve, for by your leave I will
Know what it’s like to kill.

The wonder of the Internet’s time-wasting potential is encapsulated in an Office throwaway joke about a youtube video involving Cookie Monster singing Chocolate Rain.

When humanity fails, at least we'll have theoretical physics.
“Some have skipped humanity entirely to move straight to theoretical physics.”

If you’re going to die in the upcoming year, you probably shouldn’t starve your immune system for a day.

Server service.

It is a good day when you can get free food, broker free food, and receive free food in commission. Especially when it involves pepperoni, lamb, and $2 bills.

What’s surprising isn’t that a vomit party is needed, it’s how many people need it.

Flash of Genius switches between 3 different genres, almost abruptly: documentary, psychological drama, and legal thriller. The ending is depressing in how it doesn’t deviate from what one would ordinarily expect, but it does reinforce the everyman quality of its hero/the prototypical inventor. The film is not without irony, that the subject’s popular recognition will come not only posthumously, but without his control.

“These foolish games…”

Logic, puzzles, overanalysis, indecision.

“…You were always crazy like that…”

Ruing, my new reply
Will be that I
Plead: I need you to explain why
We cannot again try.

“It's all been done before…”

This election needed to be between past and future, not between political parties. Unfortunately, both futures won their primaries; post-convention, the conflict is dominated by the past. Whoever wins will owe their victory to what they should have been fighting against.

There needs to be debate, but instead rich DC middleaged/oldfolk sit around a table after the feast, in candlelit darkness with the power out, arguing about what went wrong. There is the tragedy of our era. It’s not that things are changing; it’s that things have, and none of who need to realize do.

I’ve already recovered my key. All I can do is watch nostalgically as a 1-term inexperienced governor and a loquacious senator come to town.

[profile temporarily utilized for space]
“…I met a girl who sang the blues / And I asked her for some happy news / But she just smiled and turned away…”

I chose between true and love, and not only was it not my choice, not only didn’t I make it, but I chose wrong. I erred more than can be explained, and probably more than I can ever hope to be forgiven for. The realization of the flaws behind the tragedy doesn’t help the character who still feels the pain of having taken something alive and felt the life squeezed away.

“…I went down to the sacred store / Where I’d heard the music years before / But the man there said the music wouldn’t play…”

I have never been ambitious, content to merely do as I do and let things proceed as they proceed. Stoicism may be a trap, but it is a pleasant one; for there I had everything I ever wanted: lost, found, and regained- everything save time. And does one say to the victorious de Leon, but now what?

“…But not a word was spoken…”

Goodbye, truth: you are a glorious incarnation, but I am not yours, and weren’t ever. I tell people I’m a pathological liar. They still don’t believe me.

“…The three men I admire most…”

I am 3 people: who I was, who I became, and who I will be.

“…Bye-bye, Miss American Pie... ”

[profile temporarily utilized for space]
“…Helter-skelter in a summer swelter / The birds flew off…”

Out of the nest, into the air, and how sweet the whirlwind is in which my wings will spread.

“…We all got up to dance / Oh, but we never got the chance... ”

It will never be perfect, but I will show up and see what happens. Why not try; at the very least, I will have fun.

“…There we were all in one place / A generation lost…”

And I will get to share it. I will need you to know how sorry I am for what happened. How much I owe you, how much I promised myself, more than will genuinely be said. The guilt over how I chose my own insanity instead of supporting you is not something I think I will forgive myself for. My consolation will be in how you are a stronger person than I am, was, or will be.

“…With no time left to start again…”

With already everything I wanted, what will I go to? No matter what I find, what I will have left will have changed by the time I return. Yet I will go anyhow. With so much to do, and unable to go back, I will only close my eyes and run, and hopefully push through before out of air.

“…My hands were clenched in fists of rage…”

Friendship is a valuable commodity, to give trust that will allow one to trust, to grasp another’s hand in one’s own, and thereby will be led where one could not go alone. The right word will make truth beauty; the wrong word will reveal ugliness.

Friendship is a terrible power, especially for those who will not respect it.

“…Bye-bye, Miss American Pie... ”

[profile temporarily utilized for space]
“…Now for 10 years we’ve been on our own…”

One Monday in September everything changes.

“…A voice that came from you and me…”

My greatest fear is that the same thing that happened to me would happen to you, that as I crashed you would fall.

The fear is unfounded. You are strong, stronger than I am.

“…The courtroom was adjourned…”

I can’t go back. Independence is always important, but now it is everything I could have. I shun what I cannot do, until I only need what I can.

“…No verdict was returned…”

I’m still not completely sure what caused the beginning, nor the end. I’m honestly not sure what help you were. But for trying most genuinely, I thank you.

“…And we sang dirges in the dark…”

No one else can understand, no one else can hear. Mourning for a lost life leads to lyrics of madness. There is finally found independence- but the price is isolation.

“…Bye-bye, Miss American Pie... ”

[profile temporarily utilized for space]
“A long, long time ago / I can still remember / How that music used to make me smile…”

Once I lived a life and heard a song, and kept coming back to where I had been captivated by it. I learned its lyrics and taught them, finding meaning and poetry, and hidden meaning, and discovery, and a clever crescendo, epic and grand and unique. I found harmony, and it was pleasing.

“…I knew if I had my chance / That I could make those people dance…”

Ideas brewed in my head. I had a story to tell, but I didn’t yet understand it. In the meantime, characters and stories evolved without my control. Laslo Bleem was born.

“…I couldn’t take one more step…”

I had what I wanted, I was who I wanted, I did what I wanted. I had found my limit, within which things were perfect, and I was rising, like the sea seen arising endlessly over an endless horizon.

“…I can’t remember if I cried…”

I regretted the elm tree I didn’t climb, the roads not wandered, the heartfelt missive whose reply came after the moment passed. When did numbness cease, and pain awaken?

“…Well, I know that you’re in love…”

I once knew a girl who had flowing blonde hair and a light lilting laugh, who read Calvin & Hobbes, spoke Latin, sang Lobachevsky, appreciated poetry; who constructed abstract sculptures from discarded disks, who perched on rooftops, who ran in the autumn rain; who named herself after a Greek letter and a mathematical constant. She was Phi, she was perfect.

I never had a chance with her. I never will.

“…Bye-bye, Miss American Pie...”

“I was convinced an Obama/McCain campaign would be measurably different on almost all standards. And to watch it become Bush/Kerry, Bush/Gore, has been one of the most dissatisfying experiences.”
“That means it's not an Obama/McCain campaign. It's a Guys Who Work for Bush/Guys Who Work for Kerry campaign.”

The hardest part of any party is the planning.

“Partisan politics saps all the productivity out of debate.”
Partisan politics saps all the productivity out of production.

I’m not sure whether I’m looking for a campaign or a 1-shot.

Tigerlings!

“Some people will not tolerate such emotional honesty in communication. They would rather defend their dishonesty on the grounds that it might hurt others. Therefore, having rationalized their phoniness into nobility, they settle for superficial relationships.”

The question is not whether you would prefer I assent to your idea or say what I honestly feel, but what I do.

“Is it emotionally dishonest to then, instead of speaking, say nothing at all?”
“The cruelest lies are often told in silence.”

“Call earlier. People are worse negotiators when they’re asleep.”

The question is not whether I assent to your idea or say what I honestly feel, but which you would prefer.

Basking.

“Strumming my pain…”

Some things are bitter, fomenting up what surprisingly should have been expected, with a resonating distaste being brewed.

“…I heard he had a style / And so I came to see him to listen…”

Some things are sweet, heralding a day and a year and a lifetime in which a resonating joy can be exquisitely basked in, with sparkling eyes, akin minds, and a cool breeze on the cusp of summer and autumn.

“…Telling my whole life with his words…”

I need you to know this, that I know how special you are, that I trust you more than anyone else, more than I deserve. It’s not just that you’ve grown up; it’s that you enabled me to.

“…You guys sound great, awesome…”

Forcing the switch to new may indicate that facebook has lost touch with its audience, but at least they speak the same language.

“If ye got somethin' to say, stand fast and speak!”

The strategy with indecision is to be not making the most informed decision possible.

I just voted to register.

Making plans makes me nauseated.

“Most people were either “aah I hate storms” or “yay I like storms” or “I lived in Michigan”.”

Case by case.

“I wasn’t with her.”
There are ablatives, and ablatives.

“There seems to be some subtext.”
There is always subtext. And it’s always lava.
“The floor is lava. The floor is lava.”
<jumps off carpet>

As obvious as the reason why one double coffeeshops.

<climbs up banisters>
<leaps over railings>
I needed that exhilaration.

You remember the drug dealer from last summer? I figured out what his number is. Also, are there a pair of glasses there?

Cat as cat can: 1 forward, 2 back.

“My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why / I got out…”

Appreciation is the presence of an absence of a presence. It acknowledges that something is done which might not be done, something which another might not do, something that need not be acknowledged but is. For everyone has a choice for how they spend their time. The thankless task gets done because the doer enjoys it, not because of any degree of gratitude. It should be enough to receive satisfaction from oneself, from how the time was used; but when instead dissatisfaction turns to despair, with time not being spent how one would want, there can be a restoration by merely not not doing something.

“…And I want to thank you…”

Online, this time, proceed:
Her saying she’d
Allay pushed ‘way ‘motions’ misdeed
I did, is what I need.

        
           

You can have the scratching post. Our cats were too dumb to use it.
It could be a very smart scratching post.

There will be another opportunity; wisdom is realizing it.

Either you do already know or they’re wrong.

Say what needs to be said.

“I already know this story and it’s still TMI.”

N degrees of knowing what you’re talking about.

Shoplifters are ugly people.

Last chance. You want to just go barhopping instead?
“Yes. Stripbarhopping. But I don’t have any singles.”
I’m prepared. <pulls out wad of $2 bills>

Twice the fun.

“Syncretism. It’s a good Hellenistic method.”
Actually, it’s a good Roman method. Because it’s a good Hellenistic method.

One dei’s as good as another.

It shouldn’t be this hard to get from Act 1 to 2.
Make it start.
Make it stop.

This is a bad week to be one of my appliances which beeps when it’s not working right.