Vory V Zakone vs. Roscoe Orman

Your monthly fix of Oldie's nuggets:
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-Think the Bush administration's latest funding request for the war in Iraq is unreasonable? Well, combine it with the (publicly-acknowledged) total cost of the war so far, and we're looking at a meager $611.5 billion. Wanna know what we could have gotten with that money instead of a world that hates us (among other things)? Check out the story, here, that investigates just that. A few that stood out for me...if oil is the reason we're over there, it may strike some as ironic that we could have provided every U.S. gas-guzzling citizen with 18 months of fuel...or sent 3.5 million folks to Harvard with a full-ride scholarship...or better yet, we could have fed and educated the world's poor for seven years. We salute you for your patriotism, Congress.

-I know I shouldn't speak for my fellow Portlanders, but man, does this city seem excited to host the numerous presidential candidates planning on campaigning in our fair city over the next year. Especially when we think about the $600,000 check they'll stiff us with (nothing new for Hillary Clinton there) to protect their primadonna asses with security details, motorcades, and police overtime. Apparently this is common practice around the country...rich, mostly white, men (and now a woman!) stop into town to dip into the pockets of the public for campaign donations, then leave without forking over a dime to the very same public for the required security. When is enough really going to be enough?

-On a lighter note, the two most important musical acts in known history have both come out with new albums. Yes, I'm talking about Seal and Duran Duran (featuring production from Timbaland...oh how the mighty have fallen).

-If you haven't seen Eastern Promises, and can't still catch it at a local $3 theater like we can in Portland (suckas), make a note to rent it when it comes to DVD. A serious contender for this year's best film (if you don't count Hot Fuzz, which I do). Cronenburg kills it, scene after scene, line after line...and if you don't laugh at the Borat-like bathhouse violence, your soul is dead.

-Volunteered at this year's celebration of literature, the Wordstock festival, and was honored with the chance to chat (briefly), while manning the writers workshop rooms, with Christy George, Eve Epstein, Cheryl Strayed, Steve Almond, Tom Spanbauer, Tom Larson, and Poe Ballantine. I've never read any of their work, but they all seemed like swell people. Did sit in on a few readings, including Lance Williams & Mark Fainaru-Wada (the guys who inexplicably hate Barry Bonds' rampant steroid usage), and Harry Shearer, who is best known as the voice actor for many of The Simpson's characters (Mr. Burns, Principal Skinner and 492.1 others...if you're a fan of the show, you know what a wet dream this was. Skeet skeet.), as well as a frequent participant in the all-improv films of Christopher Guest (This is Spinal Tap, Best in Show, etc. Also a fan.)...he was very, very funny, and read from his also funny new book on "Indian" gaming. He also dropped that he was mentored by Mel Blanc (the voice of Bugs Bunny and a Portlander), and that the reason for the success of The Simpson's is that the writers have never accepted any creative input from the FOX network. It was a great festival, but I've been losing sleep at night for passing up attending Rosco Orman's reading, the man better known as "Gordon" from Sesame Street. I'll bet it was life changing.

More weird Portland

A lot of what makes Portland funky and unique are the subtle things. For example, I wrote a blog a while back about a movie theater that played "Suppressed Vicious War Cartoons" (see The "weird Portland" myth). Now, the Clinton Street Theater, which played the cartoons, is a quaint little movie house. When passing by the theater, as well as the charming neighborhood around it, one wouldn't think twice about the obscure, or flat out weird, movies and performances (they also do a weekly, interactive performance of Rocky Horror Picture Show) that take place there. A closer look, though, would reveal something far from normal and mainstream. That's why I say subtle.

Another example might be that random unicycler who passes you on his way to work in the morning. I mean seriously, a unicycler? It happens, though...and it's weird. However, because it isn't out of character for Portland, and not so radical and shocking, it is just accepted as one of those subtle quirks of our social fabric in the Stump.

To expand on the subtlety of "Weird Portland," I wanted to share something I just discovered: the stencil people in the city's bike lanes. You know what they are, stenciled markings of a two-dimensional figure on a bike, indicating where the bike lane is. However, Portland's "bike people" are, naturally, a little different. Apparently they've been around for almost 10 years, when Todd Roberts, an employee of the Office of Transportation, took the liberty of expressing his creativity while on the job. While marking Portland's bike lanes with the customary stenciled bike rider, Roberts began making minor adjustments to the figures. The first of his "bike people" was created when, with extra reflective tape, Todd added a hat to one of the figures. This created a whole new phenomenon of street art. And, as I said earlier, it is so subtle that I hadn't noticed them until recently (with the aid of an article in PDX Magazine).

Anyway, take a look at these photos. I think they're great. To read more about the art and the artists, or just to check out more photos, go to:http://bikeportland.org/2005/09/29/meet-portlands-bike-lane-people/

Although brilliant, I don't know how they get away with these, as they are in officially designated bike lanes, and I would assume are viewed, technically, as street signs. Whatever the case, it's fucking great that they exist and are accepted by the city and Office of Transportation. Maybe it just speaks to Portland's bike culture and artistic breeding ground, but it definitely adds to what makes the city unique.

Tunnels, Tubes and other Dark Spots [Guest Post]

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Reader Recognition

To all of our three readers, we want you to know you don't go unnoticed. This blog is dedicated to you, our oh so faithful viewers. For without you, there would be no "us."

We realize that in a busy world such as ours, three minutes can be a lifetime. It is no wonder that most of our friends and family cannot find sufficient time to check in on us by reading our blog...and understandably so, since catching up on our favorite TV shows and/or surfing the net for other mindless websites takes an obvious precedence. We also realize that in an age of information, it is easy for facts to get lost in the abundance of new information we are bombarded with, thus most can't even remember our blog URL.

So, to Pork, Aurora, and Gibby (our three cherished readers) we commend you. You go above and beyond, and for your efforts we continue to write (with passion, I might add).

For your loyalty and support, we want to give you some well-deserved recognition. Pork, as most know, is my mom (yes, my mom is an avid reader of Old's and my drunken tales). In addition to being a great mom (and all around person), she is also the (unintentional) queen of one-liners, a great cook, an artist (her handmade cards can't be fucked with), and a die hard Giants fan.

Aurora is Oldie's mother in law. She, too, is an artist and fellow blogger. When not creating art and keeping the spirit of the 1960's in vogue, she can be seen frantically chasing Jesus and professing her feminist ways (I know, quite the mix). Some of Aurora's art can be seen on her blog: http://foxyartstudio.blogspot.com/ Show her some love, folks.

Gibby, a functional alcoholic and all around maniac, is a life-long friend who now lives in Boston. When not drinking or selling stocks (his profession), Gibby puts in work by representing for San Francisco and the Giants on the East Coast, while also harassing me to write more than my fragile little fingers can handle. He is one of our biggest supporters. In fact, he recently visited Stumptown and promised to document his stay by writing a guest blog (how long must we wait, Gib?)

So, to say it again, we thank the three of you. We appreciate your support and hope to, someday, bump our viewership up to 4 or 5.

Drunken Baby Campfest

I know it's lazy to just throw up some photos, but blog or die, right? Anyways, force yourself to get over it, as you'll be seeing a lot of these kinds of posts from me over the next few weeks as I blaze through my backlog of photos I'd like to share wit'chya'll (that means "with all of you" for those not accustomed to the dialogue of Oklahoman Mongoloids).

The following photos are from a relatively recent camping trip (translate that to "over a year ago") that Kes and I took out to the lovely Oregon coast, namely Sunset Bay and Shore Acres State Parks.

-Arriving in Deuce-One-Seis, we had's to get thuggity thuggity thuggity.

-In all seriousness, this was a great campsite...green, secluded, next to a babbling brook, already stocked with firewood and banana-loving monkey dorks...

-There were dozens of these old tree root canals, preserved by the salt water after this ancient forest was submerged in a rising sea many hundreds of years ago.

-Lots of neat little honeycomb hideouts to, well...hide your honey in? Somebody shoot me in the face for that, please.

-In your face evidence of extra-terrestrial visitations to our corner of the world.

-Talk about a good reason for forced-extinction. Sea urchins recently developed a highly intelligent brain (it's been all over the news), and the best use they can put it to is discovering how to eat rubber bands, something the human race mastered millenia ago.

-Future site of an IKEACOSTCOMART, unless, of course, you vote for Albert Gore in '08.

-Pausing on the way home to direct a Three-Fingered Shocker at Oregon's rival, the State of Washington, better known internationally as Canada, Alaska, or Russia.

You call it meth, I call it soap

Ahh, the wonderul process of saponification. Much like turning powder cocain into crack rocks, or cooking up some meth, making soap requires some basic preparation similar to the aforementioned home-chemist pursuits.

Oldie and I have decided to embark on a promising and lucrative soap-making venture, one that involves honing our creativity while also embracing our respective entrepreneurial spirits. If all goes as planned, you'll be able to find our product at the Saturday Market, Freddy Meyers, and any locally-owned, stinky hippy shop. If, on the other hand, the soap business does not propel us into economic elite status, it will, at the very least, provide us with homemade Christmas presents to distribute to friends and family.

While not at liberty to share our unique ingredients, I can say that in buying some basic materials, we were recently mistaken for one of the many meth cooks in the Portland metro area. To limit our expenses, and consequently increase our profits (see how easily we've grasped the basic principles of money-making), we decided to buy all of our supplies at the Dollar Store and Goodwill (don't worry, this will not reduce the quality of our soap...rather it becomes more appealing to the green community since we're using recycled goods). On our recent trip to Goodwill (SE 6th St.), we stocked up on most of the essentials: a glass beaker, a measuring cup, a couple cooking pots, a set of goggles, a block cutting instrument, and, of course, a scale.

Now, if you were one of the former homeless/street people that Goodwill employs, what would you think these materials were for? Keep in mind that meth is a huge problem in Portland and, as is widely known, can be cooked up in any kitchen with all store bought materials. So, here we were, Old wearing a shirt with gold chains imprinted on it, buying all the basic materials for preparing meth, or even crack rocks. While I couldn't contain the excitement of soon becoming a soap mogul, it was also difficult to avoid looking like a couple of petty drug makers. I also felt bad for the cashier who I caused to relapse by the site of the goods we purchased.

In any event, if you want to place an order for some soap, leave a comment. Also, if meth is your thing, we have yet to make our first batch of soap, so you can persuade us to alter our venture if you'd rather get high than clean. Follow the money, right....

Seven Days of Portland Life

Damn you, Dad.

You see, my father was in town last week for seven days, and he wore us ragged. I haven't consumed so much alcohol, eaten such a quantity of rich food, and stayed so busy in what seems like over a year...

In the few days since he went back to his home town of Crescent City (a sleepy ocean-side community in Northern Cali), I've mostly lain about in my pj's avoiding contact with the outside world, fasting to lose the 15 lbs. I gained, and nursing a persistent hangover.

Now I don't want to spoil his blog (coming soon, hopefully) detailing our adventures too much, but I thought I'd paint some broad brushstrokes, toss in a few tidbits of interesting trivia/observations that he may miss, and leave the meat of the story to his forthcoming, sure-to-be epic tale.

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Where to begin...I've got this Ticketmaster pouch stuffed to the gills with napkin scraps, bar receipts, ticket stubs, sticky-notes, and Djarum box inserts, all hurriedly scribbled upon with notes from the week Dad was in the Stump. This isn't looking pretty...

Thursday

-Dad rolls in around midnight:30, we share a few bottles of Mac's Amber Ale, shoot the shit, and hit the hay fairly early in comparison to all nights from here on out...

Friday

-No trip to Portland is complete without rolling to Freddy's (Fred Meyer for all you ignoramuses), stocking up on beer and food, the latter item being completely unnecessary, as we ate out nearly every meal.

-Did the Powell's City of Books thing, another mandatory stop. Dad purchased every Umberto Eco book written and spent the next week wondering what the fuck was going on in Baudolino. I picked up Michael Munk's The Portland Red Guide, J. Maarten Troost's The Sex Lives of Cannibals, and Jonathan Lethem's Men and Cartoons, and Orson Scott Card's The Crystal City (Jeff told you I'm a nerd like that).

-Grubbed on Reuben sandwiches, matzah ball soup, and phosphates at Kornblatt's Delicatessen.

-Happily got lost driving around Portland's many great North and Northeast neighborhoods.

-Stopped off at an Ethiopian market on MLK, and almost purchased a 6 lb. bag of injera (their culture's staple food, made from teff flour).

-Very much enjoyed the happy hour at Cafe Wonder (stiff $2 well-drinks, killer fucking fries).

-Assaulted mounds of southern food at Russell Street Bar-B-Que...Beef brisket w/Classic Virginia Sauce (heavenly, perfectly cooked and seasoned), corn bread (a bit too dry), collard greens (come on guys, it just doesn't work without the meat!), and some of the best mac'n'cheese I've ever devoured.

-Attended the Portland Mercury's annual talent show, Pizzazz, at the Wonder Ballroom. I'll leave it to Pops to report more on this. Suffice to say that City Commissioner Randy Leonard was judging folk's talent (or lack thereof), and the word "Scrabble Bag" was uttered by the host, Wm. Steven Humphrey, in reference to a man's scrotum. Obviously, this quickly became the word of the week.

Saturday

-Rode our bikes down to Rose's for lunch. A better Reuben than Kornblatt's down the street, in my opinion. I also spotted former-Mayor Vera Katz enjoying a meal at the table next to us, dressed incognito with a long-billed gardener's hat pulled down low upon her brow. Wow, she's so tiny...I just wanted to reach out and crush her between my forefinger and thumb.

-Burned off our recent acquisition of an ungodly amount of calories by biking down to the South Waterfront development, then back home along the Eastbank Esplanade (which is named for Vera Katz).

-Tried very hard to order almost everything on the menu at La Terrazza to take advantage of a coupon Dad brought with him, and ended up leaving disturbingly stuffed, a bit soused from the wine, and not very happy with the fact that they advertised freshly-made limonata, but got caught pouring it from a San Pelligrino bottle. Busted, dudes.

-Watched the classic Tarantino/Rodriguez collaboration, From Dusk Till Dawn, at the Laurelhurst, accompanied by a pitcher of Pabst. Such a great movie, but seriously, Sex Machine is the worst character to ever appear on the silver screen. And that's what makes him awesome.

-Hit the bottle hard on a whirlwind tour of some of my favorite bars downtown...

Shanghai Tunnel: If vampires are real, this is where their hipsters hang out.

Kells' cigar basement: Thank you, Mr. Security Guard, for sneaking us in the back door knowing full-well that a $9 cover-charge makes about as much sense as someone giving G. W. Bush his high school diploma.

Someday Lounge: We didn't actually go in here today, but it just reminded me of a time that Jeff and I saw Pigeon John perform here. That dude is a crazy mix of Freddie Kruger and Andre Nickatina. Trust me.

Backspace: Popped our heads in to show Dad this coffee bar/music venue/World of Warcraft geek network/art gallery/tree house.

Ground Kontrol: Tallboys of PBR and TMNT. Unfuckwittable.

Ringlers Annex Cellar Bar: A French Resistance underground honeycomb hideout.

Sunday

-Kes, Dad and I went up to Amboy, WA, grabbed Jeff, then journeyed to the Ape Cave in the heart of Bigfoot country. I'll let Dad fill in the details, but needless to say, there were frog pikas in the darkest depths of the lava tube (one of the longest in North America), my Dad's fart seepage is still killing lost spelunkers, and inexplicably, a sign at the entrance to the cave proclaimed the prohibition of "Butt Raping" down below. Aww, shoot.

-Recharged our cave-weary bones at Sushi Land Marinepolis, a hotbed of Sun Myung Moon cultists. Fuck it, I'll join 'em if they can keep my $1.50 tempura plates coming.

-Relaxed at home with a bottle of wine and watched the romantic comedy, Why We Fight. That affair between Ike and LBJ sure was hot and heavy...if only JFK hadn't of come between them.

Monday

-Politely nibbled nachos and chowed down on chimichangas at the neighborhood Cha! Cha! Cha!, then cradeled cups of coffee at Costello's Travel Caffe up the street.

-Met Kes at Parkrose High and attended the City of Portland Office of Transportation's open house on future Streetcar plans. Geeked out, gave a few suggestions, then stole a couple cookies and a cup 'o Joe on the way out.

-Rode our bikes to Belmont Station's Biercafe to meet Jeff for an Asian beer tasting. Over the next hour we sampled several Indian (Golden Eagle, Haywards 5000, Krait), Chinese (Yanjing), and Laotian (BeerLao) brews, all of which were quite tasty, featuring qualities not usually found in our domestics, with flavors of roasted banana, smoky ash, vanilla malt, and peat bog. The BeerLao was a personal favorite, invoking such varietals as Old English and St. Ides.

-Got our cowboy on at the Laurelhurst, with the so-so 3:10 to Yuma. My friend Matt S. is a major supporting actor, but unfortunately couldn't save this film.

-Enjoyed another drink in the cigar basement at Kells, then headed up to the 30th floor of Big Pink, and dove into the late night happy hour (10pm-close) at the Portland City Grill, ordering 9 appetizers and enough drinks to convince me to steal a lint-roller (what!? why!?) out of the men's bathroom, which I also somehow misplaced on the way home.

Tuesday

-Nursed our hangovers at Costello's once more, lounging about at the house until the evening when we set sail for the Jolly Roger to catch the Blazers' game and watch flies breed. We heart you Sergio (our team's resident gypsy wizard), even if Coach doesn't.

-Joined the Ghosting Tour lead by Portland Underground Tours, a real stinker that I'm sure Dad will fill you all in on. Ron Jeremy was our tour guide, a couple of gypsy girls shanghaied us, and Jeff and I discovered an old opium den while sneaking away from the rest of the group.

Tuesday

-Got up relatively early (1pm) and went on a spiritual journey to the Bagby Hot Springs, located in Yarlsburg, Kentucky (not really, but I don't want to so easily give away it's location...you'll have to do the research yourself if you want to find it). Easily one of the coolest things I've done since moving up to Oregon. Once again, I'll let Dad provide the details on this magical spot. It was featured prominently in last year's Old Joy.

-Smoked a bit of puff on the porch, developed a major craving for ribs, got our hopes dashed when Yam Yam's (made famous by a Mac Dre lyric on local rapper-gone-bad Cool Nutz' Verbal Porn album) was closed due to something called "vacation" and finally landed back at the Russell Street Bar-B-Que.

-Satiated our alchoholic jitters at my favorite dive bar, Lucky's (what Gale's is to Petaluma, Lucky's is to Portland), attempted to drink booze with Johnny Cash at Esparza's (closed...apparently cowboys can't stay up past sunset), and finally settled in for the hard shit at Beulahland, another favorite watering hole.

-Ended the evening, and the adventure, for Dad left early the following morning, with the greatest film ever created, Shaun of the Dead. Oy, prick! Thanks, babe. It's not hip hop, it's electro. Cockacidal maniac. I'm sorry, Shaun. OK, but dogs CAN look up.

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This is how we roll in the 5-0-3. The couch is always waiting.

Rip City Rising?

A new era in Blazers basketball?

Maybe, but the early results remain eerily similar to the previous year's campaign. After three games, the Blazers have yet to chalk up a win and look as lost on the court as Darius Miles looks in the gym. While the season is way too young to draw any conclusions about the team, it is not too early to point out what is wrong and what needs to change.

For one, the point guard position is up in the air, leaving leadership at the position in question. The starter thus far, Jarrett Jack, has managed to make only three shots in as many games. While the point guard does not always have to be counted on to score, his measly three baskets are a cause for concern because he's attempted more than four times that amount. And worse, the most important stat for a PG, the assist, has also eluded him. He has eight assists in 3 games, compared to nine turnovers. And because the point guard is expected to run the offense, his game has effected the rest of the team.

What seems to be troubling the Blazers is their adjustment to a new, fast paced offense, as well as the lack of defense. When the team attempts to push the ball and run the court (again, the PG plays a huge role here), they look confused, tentative and not completely confident in their attack. This often leads to a turnover, poor shot selection, and/or a cluster fuck of people running around without a clue. This is true on defense, as well, where players seem lost or disinterested. This is another reason Jack has disappointed thus far, as his backup, Steve Blake, appears much more suited to cover opposing guards.

Our big men, too, have shown much to be desired when it comes to pounding the ball inside and grabbing rebounds. Joel Pryzbilla is by far our best rebounder, but due to a weak offensive unit, he is often replaced early by Channing Frye, who subsequently plays poor defense.

There is hope, though. Our two prized draft picks from last year, Brandon Roy and Lamarcus Aldridge, are both averaging about 18 points a game. And not too far behind them is Martell Webster, who, in his third year out of high school, has found some confidence and consistency, while averaging over 16 points a game and showing hustle on the defensive side of the ball. I think that with some consistent play from the PG (a committee of Blake and Sergio Rodriguez most appeals to me), and letting Pryzbilla log more minutes as a defensive-minded, veteran center, we should be able to string some wins together. Our core of Roy, Aldridge and Webster, look to be great, but getting smart and consistent play around them will be key. Let's hope the PG question gets answered soon, and that the rest of the players find their grooves. The home opener is on Wednesday, and it would be very sad for them to lose their fourth in as many games.

Billy Mitchell is God, and I'm a fool

Oldie did it to me...again. You may have read, a few months back, that Old tricked me in to seeing a movie without telling me what it was. He got me to the theater under the pretense that the movie's description would not do it justice, thus it should remain a secret. It was implied it would be a pleasant surprise. That movie, The Host, was a foreign film that takes place in Seoul, South Korea, where a mutant sea monster terrorizes the city.

Had he told me the plot in advance, I would not have gone. He knew that. He knows I wouldn't go to a lot of movies that he gets thoroughly enthused for.

Fast forward to the present. Last week, Old pulled out the, "Hey, there's a really good movie I want you and Kes to see" card. Now, I've been down this road before, so I was immediately reluctant. However, in the past, I've actually liked the obscure movies he coerced me into seeing. So, being the open minded and hopeful person that I am, I agreed to go. Not without conditions, though. I had him clarify that we weren't seeing one of his fantasy wizard movies, full of magic and sorcery.

When he told me the name of the movie, I tried to imagine a story line. However, with the title, King of Kong: a Fistful of Quarters, I got contradictory images in my head. On the one hand, I was thinking about a giant ape climbing the Empire State Building; on the other, I was thinking about a spoof of the old Spaghetti Westerns with Clint Eastwood. Never did I imagine I would be watching a documentary about two video game legends competing for the world record score in Donkey Kong.

The movie revolves around video game legend, Billy Mitchell, an ego maniacal gamer from the "Golden Age of Arcade Games," and Steve Wiebe, a nice family man with unbelievable Donkey Kong skills. Billy was the first ever to record a perfect score in Pacman and, until recently, was the world's highest scorer in Donkey Kong. Steve is the one who took Billy's record, causing Mitchell to get his panties in a bunch and try to destroy Wiebe's credibility.

The story follows Weibe as he attempts to beat Billy's long-standing record. Billy, on the other hand, shows his sinister side as he argues against the authenticity of Wiebe's eventual high score, while also making attempts to outdo the newbie. It is apparent in the film that Mitchell fears losing the reputation of the "king of kong," as his self-righteous attributes shine brightly throughout. In fact, Billy, at one point in the movie, likens the controversy surrounding him to that of the abortion issue. In multiple scenes, Billy can be seen meticulously combing his long hair prior to making public appearances. In one such public appearance, a reporter asks "how are you." Billy responds, "Perfect, haven't you heard."

Weibe, on the other hand, is the ultimate good guy with a competitive edge. He is a science teacher and family man, with one weakness: he is extremely obsessive. It is this obsessiveness that leads him down the path to Donkey Kong stardom, as he eventually unseats Mitchell as the King of Kong. Whereas Billy is sneaky and will do whatever it takes to remain the king (including sending in a potentially doctored video of him achieving a high score while playing), Weibe makes an attempt to play his record breaking games in public or recording quality videos of his play, leaving little question of the authenticity of his achievements.

The cast of the movie is rounded out with an assortment of odd characters who all share a common trait: they have a weakness for old school video games. Most are in their late 30's, hailing from the same "Golden Age of Arcade Games." They are geeky, snobby, and have amazingly poor social skills. They refer to girls as DDG, or "drop dead gorgeous," and use their video game superiority as some sort of social status. They live by the motto, "never surrender," and when they beat opponents they refer to their win as "a shellacking." Many of them have formed an official club of gamers called Twin Galaxies. This club has since become the official referee in the video gaming world. They authenticate and make official all video game records. As such, the Guinness Book of World Records depends on Twin Galaxies to report respective record holders. It is no coincidence that Billy Mitchell is good friends with the Twin Galaxies consortium, and subsequently had a huge influence on the tribulations Steve Wiebe went through in pursuing the record.

As in the movie, The Host, I found myself intrigued with what I was watching. The urge to end my friendship with Old upon hearing about the move waned, and I ended up liking it. As a result, Oldie's reputation for finding quality, albeit obscure, odd-ball movies holds.