Monday, March 31, 2008

This land is my land

I don't like that corny song but I was thinking about it this weekend. There's this comedy due named William and Ree a/k/a The Indian and the White Guy.

Anyway I remember seeing them on TV once and they were singing a messed up version of that song where the indian dude would sing "this land is my land always was my land, will never be your land" And the white dude jumps in with "this land was your land until my people cam and took it away and now its my land, will never be your land again." Anyway it was very funny in a tongue in cheek kinda way.

But I was thinking about the song this weekend as I watched trash blowing around the reservation. I was thinking of how usually when spring comes it's very green and pretty and things start to bloom. but here when spring comes and the snow melts trash blooms.

Then I started to think of how years ago my people were self sustaining and lived off the land how respectful they were to the Earth. They recycled everything, used everything in a hunt and didn't take more than needed. It makes me sad to see how times have changed.

How greed has changed a whole tribe over generations. I am not saying everybody is greedy but it's a damn shame people care more about themselves and how they appear to other people when in all reality they should be caring about the land they walk on, the water they drink, and the air they breathe. this land is our mother and needs to be treated that way.

I don't know exactly what went down years ago when the government fucked us over and put us on this reservation that is a piece of shit land good for nothing. I don't know what went down after we were forced to stay in one spot and give up a nomadic lifestyle. I don't know what went down when we were forced to quit hunting and providing for our own and take handouts of food that caused a whole diabetic epidemic. I don't know what went down with my people back then.

But I do know this now, maybe I have to live here in one spot and work for the man, but this is still my land and something has to be done now to get that respect to Mother Earth back.

Some shit has got to go down now.

Friday, March 28, 2008

This Lady

I met this lady over half my life ago. I was the high school sweetheart of her son, who was the quarterback while I cheered him on. She was fiercely proud of him no matter what. She was pregnant when I met her and a year later her baby girl was taken by SIDS. I saw her live through that.

She was already a grandma when we met. And the grandkids didn't stop for awhile, with 4 being born in 1992, including my oldest, Ty. She was always proud to be a grandma. She would show off her grandkids to everyone and introduce them as "my grandbabies" even when they were taller than her. She loved my daughter and sure didn't help when it came time to get rid of her nickname, Emma Beans.

She used to tell everyone that before Emma Beans became a teenager, she would have to buy a shotgun to scare the boys away. Emma hung around her so much, she started to act like her grandma. We used to tease her that she became a drama queen like her and scared of spidas.

She developed a southern accent from her husband who was born and raised in Alabama. I never realzied how deep her accent was until sge sent my teenage son to the convenience store for a "bag of ass." He said "What?" She said "Ass." he said "Ass?" And everyone laughed.

Her husband used to say she was as bad as one of the kids. Every get together would include her chasing the kids around and around like she was 12 years old. About 3 Easter's ago, I blogged about a hard boiled egg fight in the park. Yup, she was the one who started it and then laughed through the whole thing.

She helped me out so much when I was her neighbor, she babysat, washed our clothes, helped cook, clean and everything you could ask for in a mother in law. Even though she hadn't been my mother in law for years. She still introduced me to everyone as her daughter in law.

Out of everything I remember the most, I remember when my step dad died. I hadn't talked to her for maybe three weeks or so over some stupid reason. Which goes to show, life is too short to not talk to people. The day after he died she was knocking. I opened my door and she just hugged me and it was the first time I felt like I could cry. She held me while I did.

"When you need bread, let me know." That's how it is around here. Every wake and funeral is filled with food and people come together. The night before his funeral we made bread. I watched her make the dough. She has a method that could be considered an art form. I noticed this a few years earlier when she made pies for Thanksgiving. She treats the dough with such care and heart, no wonder it always turned out perfect.

Today I will remember that when I make bread for her. All my heart will go into it, the way she showed me. And I will make bread for her.

Rest in Peace Grandma KK. You will be missed.

*might submit for my column*

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Grandpa Rusty

Have I ever told you about my grandpa?

Well first off let me tell you the inspiration for this blog. Last night I was holed up at home trying to relax. There was a knock at my door. It was a friend of mine and her three kids. She was running from an abusive relationship from the two youngest kids' father. I let her sit and figure out what she was going to do because I had no room. She called the grandfather of the oldest girl and he came right over to see the granddaughter he never gets to see.

When she saw her grandpa, her eyes lit up and she jumped into his arms. He sat and visited for a minute and held her the whole time. She was smiling, looking at him with love in her eyes like he could take on te New York Giants himself. I watched them with adoration in my eyes and remembered...

My grandpa was actually my mom's step dad. He babysat my brother and I while my parents both worked. I would watch from my counter height view as he would whip me up "panty cakes" and eggs and bacon. He would sing old standards the whole time he was cooking. He would go out and kill a meal,bring it home and butcher it all while I watched. My grandpa would sit under shade behind the house with another Korean War Vet, Melvin and they would drink wine and sing old military songs. My grandpa could take on the world. My grandpa was a retired BIA cop from another reservation, yet he worked and made his life here on the toughest reservation. My grandpa had blue eyes and red hair and was known as Rusty, yet he was fluent in Lakota. He told me stories of giant animals and little people. My grandpa started my passion for antique glass hunting. Whether we was in an abandoned farm house or second hand store. He had a huge part in making me the woman I am today, started me on many of passions in life: cooking, nature, standards, antiques and just an overall appreciation for life and respect for others.

He conquered the world in my eyes, because he was the best.

A wonderful and positive male role model and influence for me early in life.

I miss him.

This is for him.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008


I started weening myself from nutcase drama queens who are unhappy.

Or maybe I should say I started weeding them out of my life. I can't deal with it.

I could never understand why some people just want to be depressed or angry all the time. Or why people want to worry about money all the time. I admit, I have my moments and my rants. I usually take it out on my blog but then I feel better.

I am basically a happy person. I have nothing to bitch about. I have wonderful children who aren't doing half the shit kids their ages are doing. I raised them that way.

I also raised them to see the happiness in life.

There are so many simple things in life you can be happy about.

I have had people in my life that are only happy when they have money and the minute they spend it they are unhappy and bitching about being broke. I'm no sain,t I bitch about being broke too from time to time, but I don't ever bitch at that exact moment I am spending my loot. In fact when I am buying stuff I need for the house or my kids something that makes them happy, I am happier than ever.

I am happy to see another sunrise, because honestly I don't always get up that early.

I am happy for a warm cookie.

I am happy for a cup of coffee brewed just right.

I am happy to read a good book.

I am happy when my cat lays by me and purrs.

I am happy when all my kids are home, safely sleeping.

I am happy when I hear them laugh.

I am happy I have a job, finally.

I am happy I have a house.

I am happy even though I'm not rich.

I'm a happy bitch, so if you are unhappy and don't like all this happiness, stuff it.

If you're happy and you know it clap your

Monday, March 24, 2008


I am so sick at work right now. I have a fever and can't stop sneezing. I'm gonna ask to get off early so I can go home and rest.

My kids grandma is dying. She wasn't supposed to make it past last night. The bad thing is I can't go to the funeral when they have it because of all the "issues" I have with my ex.

Everything just sucks right now, and I only wrote it down because I need to get it out. So I apologize for this horrendous blog.

Friday, March 21, 2008

I'm an American

"So tell me Dana, in your opinion, how do you feel about being Lakota and being an American? Is there a difference?"

The correspondent from the UK asked me as we stood by the massive gravesite of the Wounded Knee Massacre of 1890.

Ironic that he would ask me here, I thought as I overlooked the grave of the over 300 people who woke that cold winter morning not knowing it was their last on Earth. I looked out at the valleys and gorges that they must have ran through from the Calvary, not knowing that every crunch of their moccasin on the snow would verberate for generations. History was being made and they were simply trying to live.

I looked back at the reporter.

"I am a Lakota first. I always will be. I also believe in being an American but America doesn't believe in me. That's how i feel."

He took note, inquired further and I explained myself.

Now that I look back at that day, I relaize it was an epiphany of sorts.

You see, I am an American. My culture or race has nothing to do with anything except my own personal pride. Yet for everything I do in life I have to check a box claiming who I am.

I am an American. I am as proud of the fact that I am from a beautiful land as my ancestors were back in the day.

But I am an American and I am sick of tired of the bullshit that goes with it. Sick of being the country that can pick on other countries and start wars for bullshit cover up reasons. Sick and tired of people saying that pretty soon the government will admit we are in a recession. Who are we fuckin kidding? The dollar is worth how much? The unemployment is how high? Homeless are where? The price of a gallon of milk is competing with the price of a gallon of gas.

I am an American and I am sick of this bullshit. I used to think McCain was cool but now that he is the candidate...THEE candidate he turned into a weak punkass old man who can't speak for himself anymore and gets more conservative by the day. I used to think Hilary was ok, but her political tactics are dirtier than Monica's dress.

I am voting, because I want change. For god's sake, I hope more people vote. If your sick of this shit, vote. If your sick of a country that would rather send young people off to die rather than send them to college, or fund more people to be housed in prison a year than fund them to get a degree, than vote. Kids in India are getting degrees everyday, no wonder they are getting our jobs. Yet, we bitch and complain and don't vote.

I'm an American and I want it to change. I want to be proud to say that. I want the price of milk to go down.

I am an American, do you hear me?

*probably not*

Thursday, March 20, 2008

The Rabbit Shed

When my mom was married to the Iranian we lived out int he country. As a geoligist, he couldn't find emplyment on our reservation.

So he spent his time at home and outside.

He bought animals, all kinds. We had our very own sort of petting zoo. The geese I let go, because I hate geese. He clipped their wings, so they walked somewhere late one night when I shooed them out of the chicken coop yard. I didn't mind the ducks or chickens, expecially when we had are weird overgrown chicken, Chick Chick.

We also had pigeons that we got from an old abandoned house. He liked pigeons and gave them all Persian names.

We also had maybe 7 cats, all outdoor and 2 dogs.

But the day we got the Rabbit Shed and rabbits was different.

We got two rabbits, a male and female.

Mama and Pops.

She was black and he was white and they lived on our happy farm without anyone judging them for their interracial bliss. They had babies quickly and all our baby chicks would stay in the rabbit shed with them. The rabbit shed was an old shed Behshid fixed to accomodate them. They stayed inside in the cold, but they had a secret tunnel made from an old gas tank that led outside to their yard.

My chore was to feed the rabbits and baby chicks.

I liked watching the baby chicks drink water. They put their head up and shake their neck back and forth until the water goes down.

I would walk out with all the scraps from the fresh veggies that day. I would sit in the rabbit shed with Mama and Pops and their babies in the cold and feed the rabbits.

At this time, at age 8, I would ponder the wonder of my life. Why was I here? Why did I exist? What was I supposed to do? Was I here for a reason? Did I matter to anyone? What was my final destination? How would I mark my existence here?

Then I would grab a piece of lettuce from the plate I had on the other side of the divider and munch on scraps with the rabbits. I would pull out my notebook and start writing my little stories about a stamp who traveled the earth to never find his destination. Or a penny who was with more people than Gene Simmons, except I didn't write that part....or a rock who lived through many battles and wars. I would write my dreams and hopes and fears.

When I think of it now, the reason for my existence was right there in front of me, in that rabbit shed, in that notebook.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Memory of Montana

(Written in the style of how I remember it, when we traveled to Helena and I was 8.)

The roads are so long.

My brother and I tired of playing the ABC game with signs and playing Cows and Cemeteries. Especially when I was winning and then I hit a big national cemetery on my side of the car and all my cows died.

Everything is flat and plain then we hit the mountains. I could see what looked like smoke in the mountains. My step dad Behshid told me they were clouds. The clouds touched the Earth, must be close to heaven, I thought. We stopped at a little town in the mountains and ate at a diner. The girl working there was maybe 15 and chewing minty gum. she got our order, snapping her gum. While I was eating my hamburger I watched her wipe crumbs and salt off the formica tabletops. I want to grow up to be a waitress, I thought. I was amazed as she refilled the salt shakers. What a cool job. As an adult now I realize her feet were probably sore and she might be working to help her mom out.

We left the town and traveled further into the mountains, I slightly remember looking down into the valleys and over all the mountains. God had to make this, I thought.

How could a state so ugly on one side save all it's pretty for the other side?

We arrived at Helena at sunset. Everything was golden and pretty. We wanted to eat before we checked into our room. My mom wanted to sleep but she was outvoted 3 to 1. We found a little cafe in the middle of town. The streets were brick and I loved walking on them. The cafe was playing jazz music and I ate lemon pepper chicken. I was sick of hamburgers and fries.

We stayed in a hotel with an outdoor pool. I went down the slide with my step dad and swallowed water. I was choking and being a drama queen when I came out of the water and my bikini bottom fell off. I cried even harder when my mom laughed at me.

When we left Helena and traveled all those beautiful mountains back, we stopped in at Crow Agency for their pow wow. My mom said we couldn't walk around because Crows were our enemies and they might scalp us. They hated Sioux. My brother begged to walk around just once. He was hungry for an Indian Taco. My mom finally let him after he promised he knew where in the circle we were sitting. I refused to go with him, I liked my hair.

After 20 minutes and my mom starting to panic the MC of the pow-wow announced that there was a lost little boy. "Not only is he lost, he's brave. He just told me that's he's lost and he's Sioux from Pine Ridge, South Dakota."

The crowd laughed and my mom had to go into enemy territory to get my brother.

I knew he was nuts.

Someday I hope to go back.

*You have just visited to a memory I don't want to forget.

Monday, March 17, 2008

The Art Of Wa-teca

The Art of Wa-teca

Many of our celebrations and ceremonies around here end with a feast. It’s a time a family comes together through food to celebrate different things in life. Wa-teca is the food that is leftover and shared with all who attended.

I was born and raised on the reservation, right in Pine Ridge.

I grew up learning to bead and hustle the beadwork, grew up going to pow wows, grew up taking part in ceremonies, eating fry bread, going to memorials, graduation dinners, wakes, birthdays, and everything in life that should have prepared me for the “Art of Wa-teca.”

But being away for 16 years failed to prepare me for what I experienced last June at a family gathering. I won’t name the family because they might be ready for me this year. But I had a whole year to prepare and I will be ready for them.

This is what happened.

It was a ceremony that we went to in the morning. It lasted all day. By later in the afternoon everyone started putting the food out and it was announced that kids get in line first, then women, and then everyone else and singers would eat last. I was so hungry, I was thinking I could take my daughter up, make her plate with extra food, then share it with her. Then my dad hollered at me to get in line and help serve. My job was wojapi and pasta salad. So with my stomach growling I passed out food until the singers were in line, then I realized other people were in line for seconds.

It was then my grandma said, “That’s it, they have to serve themselves. We need to eat.”

So I piled my plate high with friend chicken, potato salad, fry bread, wojapi, kidney, and a bowl of taniga. Literally, five minutes later I was full.

I smoked a cigarette with cousins to catch up on what is going on in our lives, even though I don’t smoke anymore. It was a beautiful day. I watched my daughter run around with other little girls in the family that she just met, and they all acted like they knew each other forever. It was all peace, love, and harmony.

My dad told me to make sure to take some wa-teca home.

I was still in this peaceful, zen-like mood when I realized that as soon as the word wa-teca was mentioned, people started sneaking around all stealth-like.

Nobody was laughing and talking to each other anymore.

It was then I realized I had nothing to take wa-teca home with. I hit a slight panic mode. I was not experienced in the “Art of Wa-teca” but it couldn’t be that hard.

I looked at the huge aluminum pans that the chicken and salad was in and saw a family member who is usually very sweet in nature, glare at those around her as she folded the pans up like envelopes and walk to her car with them.

I remembered seeing my Grandpa Sid that morning as I helped him chop veggies for the soup stash these empty bulk sized cans behind the table we chopped at. I ran back towards the fire only to see him walking away with the cans towards the food on a mission.

I ran back to the shade and remembered there was the plastic bags the paper plates came in. I went to grab the bag when somebody swooped in and got to it before me.

Finally I saw the forks. I poured them out and was able to snag that bag for bread.

I looked around and saw people pulling Tupperware, Ziplocs and plastic shopping bags out of nowhere.

I gave my grandma a panicked look and she let me have her can of soup, she felt sorry for me.

So I did walk away with some wa-teca, but I walked away a wiser woman in the ways of wa-teca. I will admit I was eyeing my brother’s hubcaps out.

So needless to say, this year will be a different story. I will be armed and ready this time. Just try me.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

My Repost Classics

I decided to repost some of my favorite blogs from 360. I was cruising the ghosttown the other day and decided I want to take some of the blogs with me that mean something to me. Some people may not get it but I still laugh at some of them. So this is a blog I did about a blog that was like a meeting spot for 4 of us, only 2 of us blogally exist anymore. And somehow a lurker found our secret spot and lurked the hell out of us, but didn't comment until we all left. The blog eventually blew up from too many comments and of course I got to blame.

So here is one of my classics from 360 originally posted October 26, 2006..

It Wasn't Me

OK, this wasn't the blog I had planned on doing today but because I am being accused of blowing up Ned's blog this is what happened. (Yeah, you all know who you are that accused me. And no I don't need to come with a warning label)

Ned opened this blog up....real nice place. We would all meet up there sometimes. Sometimes Conant (don't ask, i don't know who he is) sits in there and talks to himself. Well we all would laugh have fun. There are 4 of us that I will show you a pic of, Ned has survelliance in his place. Up there is a pic of Ned and I on the morning before the big bang. Before I get to that let me tell you about this "most comfortable blog ever." The 4 of us would go in there and meet up like this pic....


some funny stuff happened there...wished you all could have read it. I mean one night I left, the Neddo left and we left TMT and Ass Fault there drunk. the next day the place was a mess....Ned saw these pics hanging all over....we cleaned it and found these snapshots of Tomi giving Ass lessons...

howtomakeBigass copy

We was shocked, shocked ....speechless. We had no idea they were pole dancing in there when we was gone. Neddo felt violated.....he did a shot of 101 to get his mind off of it....and decided to show me this trick he learned while bartending...


I went to comment but something didn't seem right...I felt don't know it just wasn't right. It would have been the 1,538th comment....I went to push post comment when I felt the boom. I turned and ran......with my guns!


tomahawk_explosion_photo copy

When I looked back I seen Neddy flying amongst the comments.....then Rachel Ray came on TV and she was making this chicken sandwich and salad and well, I knew he would be ok. Big misconception everyone has about comments....comments are actually soft and cushiony. Especially between Ass and Tomi...

So I go back to check on Neddy later.

Like 3 hours later.....

2409281621 They are pulling him away from the mess...I run up and ask him if he is going to be ok.

"Mama?" he a poor little baby bird, fallen from the nest.

"No I am Dana..."

"Linda?" he says...he is seeing spots. Had a huge head injury.....poor guy just drive around and around in his own blog.

da8e Doc says he will be ok....but he is stuck with that look on his face ...*whispers* FOREVER!

So see I am INNOCENT! I have wounds too where I was hit with comments. I have a huge scratch on my pinky finger. Oh and if you go to tell him to get well, respect the mess. It will take him months to clean that comment schrapnel up. Ned, you know I am a blog sis and will always be here for you...always.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

One sentence

Sometimes when I think of all the places in the world I could have lived instead of this dried out prairie that seems as if it is trying to die with our culture, and i think if how people in my culture are not as appreciative as my ancestors and don't respect the Earth and throw their trash all over the damn place and don't teach their kids respect and people forget how to respect each other and then I think of how so many people here are still fluent, still active in the Lakota religion and way of life, still doing the native arts and crafts and how they still offer you coffee when you go to their house or ask you if you are hungry or will smoke a cigarette with you even if they don't smoke because it is tobacco and from the Earth and that is like honoring the earth and how we pray and honor is so high up on a Lakota's priorities that they always offer tobacco back to the earth and every prayer ends with the phrase Mitakuye Oyasin which means we are all related, which means that the air we breathe is relevant to the water that gives us life and that is relevant to the earth that feeds us and the animals and plants we share this Earth with, when i think of those things and think how I could have been born in Brazil with long beautiful legs or born in France where I could walk on cobblestone streets and eat warm bread from a bakery or how I could have been born into royalty, when I think of all that and what I have here on this dried up prairie, then I know I was meant to be born here, live here, and I was born to be Lakota.

*pic by my sister

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Shop shop shop

some cool shit

check it out here---------------------->click the blue little dot .

Monday, March 10, 2008

You say rhetoric, like it's a bad thing. (column entry)

You say rhetoric like it’s a bad thing.

Rhetoric is generally understood to be the art or technique of persuasion through the use of oral, visual, or written language.

That definition is from Wikipedia. I have been hearing that phrase phrase over and over in attacks against Senator Obama. I knew what it meant, but I might not be the brightest bead on a pair of moccasins, so I looked up the exact definition. After reading the definition, I got to thinking, "Why does everyone keep saying it like it’s a bad thing?"

Like when they say he is“long on rhetoric and short on specifics.”

I don’t get how the word rhetoric is an attack when so many great leaders were rhetoric. They spoke with conviction that made people, not only want to follow them but take part in changing for the better.

Here are some examples I found:

“Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle. And so we must straighten our backs and work for our freedom. A man can't ride you unless your back is bent.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

Of course, I started with Martin Luther King, Jr. He always spoke with rhetoric and made many, great changes in this country. Now I will show you some rhetoric quotes from others.

The energy, the faith, the devotion which we bring to this endeavor will light our country and all who serve it-and the glow from that fire can truly light the world. And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you- ask what you can do for your country. My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man.” -JFK

Another great rhetorical speaker who in his short time here, made wonderful changes in America.

“We should, all of us, be filled with gratitude and humility for our present progress and prosperity. We should be filled with awe and joy at what lies over the horizon. And we should be filled with absolute determination to make the most of it.” -William J. Clinton

Obama himself quoted Bill Clinton when he was criticized for lack of experience, just like President Clinton was when he was a candidate.

“The same old experience is not relevant: You can have the right kind of experience and the wrong kind of experience.” –Bill Clinton, as quoted by Barack Obama

Here is a rhetoric quote from Chief Sitting Bull, who way back in the day knew what we needed.

“Let us put our minds together and see what life we can make for our children.” –Chief Sitting Bull

So maybe the word rhetoric makes people think that someone can only have great, inspiring speeches and do nothing. But from the list of people I quoted, I think turned out to be great leaders. I think their rhetoric inspired us all to be better people, to want change, and to do it together.

I watch the debates I hear one saying “me, me, me” and the other saying “we, we, we.” I listen to the political analysts on news networks. I will vote again, because I have never missed an election since the age of 18. I hope everyone else plans to vote, because we do need change.

Then again, what do I know? I watch and vote on American Idol, too.

"It took a lot of blood, sweat and tears to get to where we are today, but we have just begun. Today we begin in earnest the work of making sure that the world we leave our children is just a little bit better than the one we inhabit today." -Barack Obama

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Visual Communication stolen from Yardy

go to photbucket, type answers in search area, copy and paste the html code.

What is your relationship status?


What is your favorite color?


Who is your celebrity crush?

JohnnyDeppDerek Jeter

Terrence Howard

What are you listening to right now?

eazy e

What is your favorite beverage?

Rolling Rock, also good beer.

What is your dream vacation?

yankee stadium

What do you want to be when you grow up?


What do you love most in life?family

One word to describe yourself


Born and raised in?

Built Rez ToughPine Ridge Reservation

Favorite tv show?

Bill Maher


Saturday, March 8, 2008

So far...

all is good in my life. Last night my friend Denise and Bobby came over and I realized that is why you even have friends in your life.
It wasn't that i really needed someone there to be my friend, but it was that one of them at that moment really needed a friend.
So we sat, talked, laughed and it made the person feel better.
As a friend, you don't judge one for their actions or what they do in life with their life.
But you are there to pick them up off the floor when they need it. Of course you may laugh at them for falling just to make them feel better as they go down, but you will pick them up after.
I never let too many people get too close to me in life because of past spurned friendships. but I feel I am at a point in my life where I can accept friendship.
The power of a friendship is rare, I'm glad i found it, and I hope more people do.
To any friend in my life who ever thinks I would be mad at them over a decision that makes them happy, well don't. Unless you know, you vote for Billary or something. (Just teasing.)

Happy birthdya to my brother Trav, enjoy life and I hope you have a good one!

Monday, March 3, 2008

The Middle of Nowhere

That is what I always named my blog. Even back in the pre-historic 360 days.

Nowhere isn't here on the reservation.

Nowhere is here in my mind. It's where I go all the time.

I escape to nowhere to get away from everything else.

Nowhere is a nice place to be when I have nothing else to do.

Do you want to go nowhere?

Follow me.