Why I Haven't Returned Your Text Until the Next Morning

'Jetlag' is falling asleep at nine pm, to wake up at 5am, only continuing the cycle of being tired the next night again, by 9. Also, around said social dinner time, when people ask you why you are so tired and cannot possibly meet for a drink, 'Jetlag' provides you something to brag about*. 

This is not the case for all however. Some who prescribe to the notion "the early bird catches the worm", or in NYC's case "the early bird gets the last available spin bike", see jetlag as a desired state, an opportunity to get a head start on the day,… early to bed, early to rise, early to rise…  first to accomplish. 

I have been severely 'jet lagged' or just in a more productive persons sleep cycle for 7 straight days now. After being 8 hours ahead in the UAE for 2 weeks [*there it is], I landed in Newark Sunday January 6th,… today is Monday January 14th. Its 6:48am. I've been youtub-ing Ricky Gervais' Golden Globe opening monologues 2010-2012 for at least an hour.

If you've ever said "I wish there were more hours in the day" - as someone who regularly wakes up at 10am, and is now up around 5:30,.. I've found about 5 of them. While some would see this as a jumping off point to greet the world at sunrise, with a book under their belt, ready for the day…   I was not made for mornings.

Things I've Missed:

- Midnight for the last week.

- Work Out Session with friend Rebecca, start time: 730pm - those were supposed to happen daily.

- Favorite Dance Class, start time: 8:30pm

- Hurricane Sandy benefit show, on which I was scheduled to perform, start time: 11pm

- Good guy friends birthday at GoldBar, where I'm sure I would have met my soul mate, start time: 10pm

- Texting anyone back passed 10pm.

- Friends I haven't seen since 2012, one of which who came in from Connecticut, who were waiting at the Sullivan Room with a bottle in tow who I texted in order, "I'm coming!"…. "Okay…  getting a move on"… "Yea… I'm not coming". Start time: 11:30pm

- Showtime's free preview weekend aka Homeland

- Two other random peoples birthday parties, again soulmate-dom probably would have commenced, start time: no idea, because I was already sleeping with the phone off  and got the texts the following morning. 

- My brothers farewell dinner back to college… 

- The Golden Globes

Things I've Accomplished: 

- Had a great show at Freddies Bar, that I almost missed, which kept me out to 2am, but did not reset my sleep schedule

- Watched "Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia" season 1 - 7 on Netflix [5am-9am activity]

- Discovered Amazon's Instant Play [it's brilliant answer to iTunes]; purchased and watched the current season [8] of 'Always Sunny' [Same time as above]

- Unpacked… it took a week. 

- Been at the gym 9am, shocked at how many other people are there…  [last time I was in the gym that early, Bush was in office]  

- Met the real life version of Ben Stillers character in 'Dodgeball'... he teaches the Thursday 9am spin class at the SoHo equinox. The look. The voice. The vernacular... 

- Watched the new Netflix season of "How I Met Your Mother" [when I finished Always Sunny…]

- Sent a slew of apology texts

- HULU'ed the recap of the Golden Globes

- YouTube-ed Golden Globes of years passed, when Ricky Gervais turned them into Hollywood Roasts. 

- Became sort of turned on by Ricky Gervais. [Is that an accomplishment?]

How many times I've had to rewash my duvet because I've fallen asleep between dry cycles and I wake up to find it smelling of mold: 4 [not including this morning]

At what point I will just go to Bed Bath And Beyond and buy a new down comforter: Tomorrow, Tuesday the 15th. Does Bed Bath open at 6am? 

Yet Another Drum Beater

Amy and I met while working together at Tia's Bar and Grill, a job I took in college to meet men as it was 'the' Boston after work place during the summer. Little did I know however, Tia's uniform consisted of flat sneakers, white shorts and a blue crewneck Tia's sweatshirt. All of this information I would have known if I had not called, but actually gone to the place to apply and put in the effort of wanting the job, any job, over Junior year summer. Basically take a Cheesecake Factory waiter, put them in even less flattering shorts... and then let them bake out in the heat. Needless to say,  I did meet men, many men, who after I showed them to their table said "wow that guy has really big boobs."  

Within a week I changed the uniform, wore wedged heeled sneakers and white skirts you had to squint to see and got a date with the guy from the Spanx story. I was ultimately pulled aside and told I "beat too much to my own drum".. I said "Thank You" and on my proud walk back to the hostess stand was told more flatly, "No,... that means your fired".  

Amy since has moved on and up. My good friend is now a new blogger, as the world clearly needed yet another self-entitled schmuck like me. 

Amy Diaz just posted an article compiling her Fortune Cookie Fortunes, and then explained them as they resonated with her at the time of her eating chinese food.  Clearly, she is a very deep girl. Like horoscopes,  or the Democratic party, cookie fortunes too are loose idea's that can resonate within almost anyone, and as such, I took her fortunes and applied them to me in hopes of gaining personal insight and sharing her blog, 'Just A Thought', with you. 

Read A Novel - and Learn More About Life:  Amy was in the process of reading the Twilight Saga when she got this one. Clearly she learned that men who glitter and won't sleep with you, are gay. 

As a Cure for Worry, Work is Better Than Whiskey: Or,..  As A Cure For Worry, White Wine is Better Than Work. 

You Are A Source Of Wisdom and Strength To Many People:  They don't call it Wasser Wisdom for nothing! So a source of Wisdom,.. ahem, this blog is living proof. A source of strength however? Mom, how many times do I have to tell you! I am not a lesbian! 

A Man Who Trims Himself to Suit Everybody Will Soon Whittle Himself Away: MEN... disregard this please... keep trimming. Lonely is the man sporting himself a lawn. [and no that line did not come out of a cookie].

You Are Never Selfish With Your Advice or Your Help: [see fortune above]

Romance Awaits You: This one is true! I have 42 messages waiting on JDate between the age brackets of 21-23 and 45-70. Some are lounging on futons. One is a midget. 

It's One Of Those Low-Key Days That You'd Rather Spend Just Chilling: This isn't a fortune so much as it is statement of the present, however, as Amy says, how often are you eating Chinese food when you're not chilling?  

Enthusiasm Can Change The Current Situation: At first reading I thought it said 'Euthanasia Can Change The Current Situation' which while accurate... you have to wonder where this bitch is eating her Chinese food.  Upon proper reading though, I feel like this one is given out only when the food is horrific. You get the check, the cookie, this message and can say "This meal was truly terrible...  but you know what can change that? My attitude."

You Were Born with a "Sixth Sense" and a Superb Insight: I have been to Boca, so I can say I've seen dead people. As for insight,  check out my friend's ramblings at her blog "Just A Thought".http://amyjdiaz.blogspot.com/

The 83rd Annual Academy Awards

Last night all eyes turned to what some call Hollywood's biggest night, and what I will call a reason to feel good about ordering in and opening wine with my mother, who has cable, and is equally as snarky as I. The 83rd Academy Awards finally gave ABC a purpose to exist as a network and paraded stars, their spouses, and wanna-be's of both down what Justin Timblerlake called "the Magenta carpet". Thanks JT! After hearing years of your overproduced 'music', its nice to see you now have a knack for truth telling & accuracy.  Speaking of which, lets dig in. 

There were some decisions made last night that I really do have to call into question: 

1. Who keeps letting Gwyneth Paltrow sing? 

2. Why was "The Kids Are Alright" an oscar nominated movie? While I love Mark Ruffalo, I don't see how a movie that would have been chocked up to a chick flick had the protagonists been hetero, is now worthy of an Academy Award. It pains me to say this after falling out of love with Anne Hathaway last night, but whoever wrote for her put it best, "it was a great year for lesbians". 

3. Whose idea was it to have Kirk Douglas, stroke victim on cane, present an award? Is he old? Is he autistic? Needless to say, it was uncomfortable. If he could, at the end of the show I think Kirk would say what Melissa Leo did upon her Best Supporting Actress acceptance, "everyone else makes this look so fucking easy".  I love Kirk Douglas, but the only thing more awkward I've ever seen at an awards show was that Golden Globes where they kept panning to Temple Grandin and that one time Halle Berry went on a crusade for colored women as they did close ups on her white-bread mom. In any case, both Kirk and Anne Hathaway should have recognized their abilities and said "Thanks for the honor, but no".  

And for my biggest gripe of all;  Anne Hathaway and James Franco? Was Charlie Sheen busy! For anyone who says anything redeeming about the pair [who will look back at this and fire their managers]; were you stoned? Because I'd put money down that James Franco was. I know a pole smoker pot smoker when I smell one, he was higher then the Academy was when they decided to validate The Social Network as a movie. I must thank James for two things though, last night I got a contact high through my television, and until James Franco I didn't know that you could introduce Oscars presenters condescendingly, so thanks for that! Maybe in his next movie they'll have him saw off his tongue.  As for Anne, while she was in way above her head, at least she came sober - nice girl, hardly entertaining - the pair produced a snoozefest. Anyone who needs proof that last nights oscar hosts were anything more than lackluster can look to the quality boost during Billy Crystal and Bob Hopes mere 5 minutes. I never thought I'd say this, but last night I missed a Baldwin brother.

Melissa Leo's award was well deserved. While the Academy may never grant her airtime again, I am truly happy when good craftmanship wins. Along those lines, cheers to Colin Firth, Christian Bale, The Kings Speech and the audio/visual/editing teams of Inception, Alice in Wonderland's costume designer and Natalie Portman. It was a great night for so many stars, but lets be honest, I don't really care so much about their achievements as I do their outfits. There were some stunning gowns. That new girl Jennifer something from Winters Bone [what I'm lovingly calling Precious for white people] looked gorgeous. Hilary Swank, Halle Berry, Sandra Bullock, Mila Kunis and my ♥ Celine brought it! Mellissa Leo looked great - I have to say, there were only a few dress disasters, Scarlett Johanson much? At this point she should be used to flops, but really?  That hair is what happens when your career falls to sexual favors for red carpet access.  

All in all, good night. Congrats to the winners. I still think Jeffrey Rush got cheated. I've come to terms that I will never win an Oscar unless I inherit a role with a speech impediment or same-sex orientation, or they make a movie based on Twitter.

Hipsters

There are very few places in life where you can go, look around to people watch and in return feel a sense of 'I'm more than OK'. These place include but are not limited toDisneyland, Targets 'non-designer' section,  Planned Parenthoods, and new to the list: The Chelsea Room, as UrbanDaddy.com describes is "a new nightclub inside the bowels of the old rock-and-roll funhouse that is the Hotel Chelsea, the place where Jimi Hendrix used to howl off the fire escape at three in the morning." While I can agree that the Chelsea Room was in the bowels of something, whether Jimi was screaming because he saw The Chelsea Room's crowd or not, they are the reason that I went home. 

Let me preface this by saying that The Hotel Chelsea, and subsequently The Chelsea Room, is conveniently next to Gotham Comedy Club. After finishing an audition set at Gotham to secure a gig as the warm up for a TV show; I needed to celebrate, commiserate, and unwind. As only one of the five friends who assured me they were coming actually showed up, I was at the mercy of my friend Isabel,  who is consistently on the prowl. This being said my first choice of the venue to the left of Gotham, Jakes Saloon, was out. Jakes is known for their chicken wings and therefore men who believe its appropriate to publicly eat them,... I think enough has been said. This leaves only the choice to Gotham's right;  the new nightclub in the bowels of the old rock-and-roll house that is the Hotel Chelsea.

Upon arriving at The Chelsea Rooms red-velvet ropes, I had a feeling this would be an absolute disaster-piece. Call it woman's intuition or the large majority of plaid shirts smoking cigarettes outside it's heavily guarded door; in places where entering requires a double-shampoo shower once home, I usually don't 'fit in'. There was no line to enter so my ego wasn't effected until we were ID'ed and asked who we were there for. Apparently the answer of 'I'm here for my friend Isabel", and her response of "I'm here for myself" was not going to cut it. After being briefed about some 'private party for fashion week', luckily there was a lovely man behind us who spoke up, and spoke for us; "I'm with Elenora's list, and there are three of us", signaling to himself, Isabel and I.  Upon entering however, the only list that belonged there was Schindlers. Everyone in the room looked either hungry, miserable or both. Isabel optimistically described the crowd as Hipsters and Models,... I will  honestly  describe the crowd as Hipsters andHipsters.  There were men the size of boys, women the shape of boys and all of whomfelt they lost out when they didn't score the cover of Prozac Nation, mainly because that gig would have been perfect for all of them.

In the bathroom, after befriending attendant Solomon, Solomon sneezed. My natural instinct said 'Bless You', to which my sink-neighbor to my left, scoffed at me while giving the evil eye and declared "you know, that is a really rude thing to say. I don't dictate you're beliefs - don't throw yours onto mine". Sir, first off, you didn't sneeze. I wasn't, nor would I, bless you; I was blessing Solomon, my new Nigerian friend. You on the other hand are wearing a wool scarf indoors,... if you think I'm going to even going to take a gander at the things you most likely believe in, I've already seen Matt Lauer and Tom Cruise go at it. Furthermore, the fact that you can stand next to another human who just sneezed and say nothing, puts you in a list of people I wouldn't spit on if they were on fire. At this point, he informs me that he is very big in the fashion world, to which I inform him "that's great, because you're probably not big anywhere else" while gesturing to his groin, at which point, it was time for me to go home.

Wasser: 1, Hipsters: 0. I may wear skinny jeans, but at least my head isn't so much larger than my waist that I think thin mustaches are cool, bathroom attendants aren't people or that an increased credit line at Urban Outfitters makes me "Big in the fashion world". Goodbye, good riddance, and goodnight. Jimi, you are now not the only one howling over the Chelsea Hotel. 

On Wasser-White House Relations

At this point when someone mentions Obama, unless I‘m a few drinks in, I stay uncharacteristically quiet. I find that those who don’t support him usually have the wrong reasons why a la “that SOB with his stupid mosque”, and those that do support him? Put best by my friend Jamie to calm me after being cut off by some schmuck in a Pontiac Vibe touting ‘yes we can’; “if they’re stupid enough to buy American and vote for a socialist, they don’t need you to confirm they’re a moron” – and so, with the option of either way arguing with an idiot, I stay silent to be thought a fool, rather than to speak and remove all doubt. When it comes to Wasser-White House relations, I’m caught between a rock and a hard place of wanting to support the leader of the country, paired with the fact that I don’t believe he could lead a bedbug to a mattress; unless of course that bedbug wanted to contribute nothing to the journey in which case, I’m sure Obama could find some way to lend a helping hand and preferably a top tax bracket home who could assumedly afford the extermination spray. (And so, my elephant is out of the bag).

This past week however, my frustration went from a place that was shared with the populous, to a place that was felt by me alone. My grandma found out she needed an arterial stent, basically a small tube placed in clogged arteries to keep both her Carotid artery, and Long Island steak houses near her home, open and in working order. Peter Lugers: 1. Hedda Wasser, also a winner. This is until she went to her cardiologist and was told that her insurance that she had paid thousands of premium health care dollars into since the last ‘great depression’ will not cover so much as the Hospital’s jello or static soft-core porn because she is (un-admittedly) over 75 years of age.

While I usually try to block out statements of ignorance such as ‘Obama is trying to kill the old people’; it does seem as if geriatrics are finally about to remember what it feels like to be fucked. And so I turned to Facebook, where apparently there are people with far more time on their hands than I have. Who knew that ‘The White House’ a. has a Facebook page, b. has less fans than Kim Kardashian (about 800,000 to Kim’s 3 mil) and c. would be the cheapest form of entertainment available now that The World Weekly News is out of print. As such, I’m sharing the highlights of today's posting:

The White House: Photo of the Day: Carved pumpkins depicting President Barack Obama, Abraham Lincoln, and the White House sit on a stone wall next door to where the President was attending a dinner reception in Providence, Rhode Island, Oct. 25, 2010.

Sami B: How much of taxpayer's money did you waste for that?

Lisa B: @Sami.... don't be stupid. John Reckner carved them. Idiot.

Sami B: I'm pretty sure the money for this could have bought someone a tooth filling. Just lookin' out for  you ungrateful rednecks!

Jim W: @sami. it said nothing about who made them. how do you know an artist didn't hear Obama coming in and then carve this beauty. Great Photo

Timothy S: The pumpkins... which WERE THE POINT OF THIS POST are stunning. Y'all need to take your bickering somewhere else.

Mary M: (with the burning question on my mind): Why is Obama always putting himself beside Pres. Lincoln?

Mike A: How can anyone like this lier that has no idea what the hell he is doing and has the nerve to blame someone that had nothing to do with the economic down turn and loss of jobs AS SOON AS THE DEMACRATS TOOK MAJORITY OF CONGRESS IN JAN 2007 IS WHEN GOVERNMENT TOOK A LONG DOWNHILL SLIDE AND YOU HAVE BARRY HUSSEIN COMPLAINING ABOUT BUSH,GET YOUR FACTS RIGHT JAGOFF

Nanda: Very cool, 'cept Obama looks pissed off. Perhaps he's thinking about how he keeps getting cock blocked on the hill.

James H: good lord, after reading the comments some of yall are pathetic, whining about tax payer money on a pumpkin, n being robbed by a president, and what does this have to do with the pumpkin lol..., so ur basing ur pissed offness on assumption, which is kinda like goin to take a dump, and assuming theres toilet paper..... that bein said, it looks bad ass, and its a tribute not just to obama for those whining about him, but to abe as well and what he wanted for us over 100 yrs ago...i couldnt do that well of a carving, could you? so why whine and stress it, its not gonna make yall happy when your on your death bed reflecting back on your life. so why are u waisting your time gettin upset over a pumpkin

And last but not least, the only one with any sense;

Andrew G: some of you people need to learn how to spell


IN CASE YOU WERE WORRIED ABOUT HEDDA: Don’t be. My grandmother is lucky that she has a doctor in the family (were jews) and has saved well; but what if this wasn’t the case. As this out-patient procedure would cost tens of thousands, there are many that would be simply priced out, or would spend their livelihood in securing their health resulting in an end-of-life not worth living. While I often joke that my grandma will be killed by a black man, I always envisioned her demise resulting from a black man, her granddaughter (me), and a sex tape… there goes ‘Hope’.

Stars And Stripes - A July 4th To Forget.

9 times out of ten, I’d swear I acted intelligently. Then, a turn of events takes place as if to say, ‘Wasser – be honest with yourself… you know that number is probably closer to somewhere around three’. As stubborn as I am delusional, I’m convinced it is not me with the problem, but in fact, everybody else. For example, why would an established company like the Long Island Rail Road, a branch of New York City’s MBTA, offer the easy option of WebTickets, if once purchased, said e-ticket will be hard mailed to your house for use in 3-5 business days. The Long Island Railroad is a two and a half hour schlep, with not an inkling of glamour or glitz attached, and bathrooms the homeless wouldn’t use. Who in their right mind plans 3 to 5 days in advance for something they don’t want to do. You don’t plan for last resorts, you suck it up and e-ticket them 30 minutes before port of call; which is exactly what I did. And like most true hellish debacles, that is where this story begins – rock bottom, on the LIRR.

Weeks prior, over chardonnay and cigarettes, my mom came up with a truly wonderful idea. Fourth of July weekend, invite Jamie to the Hamptons. Jamie, my best friend and ex-roommate from college, is one of the only people in the world who truly ‘gets me’. We get each other frankly and when you’re looking at a 6 foot tall, 100 pound gay man in women’s jeans, and an Hermes belt, with a contagious cackle and a 25th birthday plan of ’25 and alive’: pecks, lips, & lipo – you think to yourself, this is one of my souls mates? There’s a small 10% piece of you that just knows you’re screwed; the other overwhelming 90% majority knows however how blessed and lucky you are to have found such a friend.

Invite Jamie to a funeral or Bar Mitzvah in New York, there’s a 50% chance he won’t be coming. Invite Jamie to a Hampton’s weekend, and the hottest weekend at that, before I heard back ‘yes’ or ‘no’, I simply received an email, “my flight gets in at six.” A six pm arrival time leaves us boarding the hell train at either 7:30 or 8:45. 7:30 comes and goes, with 8:45 being our last, and final option. Getting somewhere, and punctually, is not my strong suit and at 8:07, it was decided that no, I wouldn’t have time to masturbate, I have to make peace with whatever I’ve thrown into my bag and also the truth that someone could get to Penn Station faster from Florida (Jamie), than I could from down the block.

Getting into any moving vehicle, and saying “Hi sir, Penn station please – as fast as humanly possible” is the closest thing to a death wish you can do in NYC but after two near life ending experiences, and one small tap fender bender, I find myself hustling into Penn with the grace of pig whose just found out they’ve been hogtied. With all my hands full, and the trains departure closing in on ten minutes, my phone rings;

“Wass, where are you? I’m in Penn Station, but I don’t see Long Island.”
“What do you mean, ‘you don’t see long island’. Jamie there are signs everywhere… follow one”
“I did! I’m telling you this Long Island Railroad is no where to be found”
“Jamie, it takes up half of Penn station”, and then I though of a sign for him to follow that you didn’t need to be literate for, “J, just look for girls with thongs hanging out of the backs of their jeans. That will get you to Long Island every time.”

Proof that the last tip actually worked, from behind a pack of gelled hair, bathroom Blonde, Mandee’s patrons came Jamie, sauntering down the escalator with a Vuitton duffle in tow. That, and the “American Tourister”; a hard suitcase circa 1970 that stopped being cool as soon as people were able to see it for what it was while not tripping on acid.

With 5 minutes to train-time, hellos would have to be postponed. Speedily, we start dodging through the overly crowded waiting area trying to find our track. While the clock is ticking, one of the reasons Jamie and I get on so well is that we always have our priorities in order. Making the train was one thing, making the train enjoyable was another; and as Oprah or any other self help god will tell you – you can always find time for what’s important; 8 mini bottles of Sutter Home chardonnay. Sweat from rushing may be dripping from our brow, but time stops for wine. All necessities in tow, we high tail it to Track 9, to find nothing but standing room and snobbery – at least we knew we were on the right train.

The doors close behind us; both of us here? check. Booze? check. Tickets?... shit. Well, so what – we didn’t sort out this e-issue at the help desk. Thanks to Steve Jobs, I have my emailed receipt clearly on my cell phone and assuming this 3-5 day mailing thing MUST be a mistake, as it really does defeat the purpose of the e-ticket, I’ll explain to the conductor, who must get this all the time. After meeting the conductor, he doesn’t. He also wasn’t interested in letting this slide for a mini-bottle of Chardonnay. What he wanted was the one thing we didn’t have; cash, and $46 dollars of it. Nothing is more embarrassing then creating a scene on the long island rail road, surround by people who think they’re too good to be there, next to the American Tourister, pulling crumpled singles out of your purse that between two people equal seven dollars.

“You’re going to the Hamptons,… with seven dollars?” Joe (we were now on first name terms) asked, in a condescending tone as if he was trying to get his facts straight. Neither of us willing to admit yes, Jamie flings open his wallet to check the nothing in it once again. In the fling, he exposes a photo he carries of his sister, which he, Joe and I discussed and agreed she looks great. Then either because he liked us, or there were 7 other full cars on the train, Joe asks for our ID, has us fill out IOU’s, tells us to bring them to a station, where we can eventually pay. Not only are we on the unfortunate Long Island Rail Road, we were now in debt to them. Handing the forms to Jamie, who hands them to me – “what happened to chivalry” I ask. “I’m gay… we’re exempt” Now Joe chimes in, “ehh a mans still the man, sorry” “Nobody has the gay mans side”, Jamie shrieks – “Someone has your backside though”, I retort – and with that, we’ve now won Joe over. He lets us in on the secret that nothing actually happens if we don’t pay these, which I think he might have only said because after he liked us, he still wasn’t sure if we had more than seven dollars to our name.

We transfer trains to one with more seating, bribe a man in a 2seat row with comedy club tickets to move to another open single seat so we can sit together, and just when we think all is well, the train starts moving, but in the seats we’ve coveted; we’re moving backwards – which in retrospect was foreshadowing what would become the rest of Stars and Stripes weekend… to be continued.

Getting Back To Life

You graduate college in some god awful garb, to stand with 5,000 other burka-esque clad kids you don't know, to culminate your college career by picking up an empty folder, trot across the stage and hope not to trip. What I didn't realize that day, is that as soon as you safely make it back to your seat, post-grad life is very much like graduation - most days still revolve around the thought of not tripping; making the right decisions, furthering a path, pursuing a dream.

It takes a bit to transition to what is referred to as 'real' life'. At first, its exciting, then scary, and then the unthinkable happens; the same way you settled into the last of life's phases, the world you live in eventually becomes home - and then its time to decorate. New jobs, new friends, new experiences.  And while its daunting to know you are standing at the crux of a crossroad, the endless possibilities, in coordination with good balance, at the very least keeps your palms consistantly clammy. 

Wasser World has always been exciting, that much has not changed and instead, has only intensified. What has changed however is that every schmuck seems to have a blog. I am just as schmucky, if not more so... and therefore, the Wide World of Wasser is back, - and bigger then ever.