I’ve never had Yellow Tail, I’ve never slammed it, but nonetheless I was intrigued by this article about how John Casella, whose Casella Wines produces Yellow Tail, “slammed critics who blame his winery’s Yellow Tail label for undermining premium wine sales abroad.”
Not identified in the article was just who those critics are, but perhaps this four-year old article from Slate is indicative of them. “[W]hat was good for Yellow Tail wasn’t so great for the Australian wines as a whole,” it argues, adding that “consumers came to equate Australia with wines that were flavorful but also cheap and frivolous.”
Mr. Casella takes this theory head-on and counters with a strong argument: “Is Barefoot…destroying the image of American wine?” he asks, logically, concerning the top-selling wine in the U.S. (Yellow Tail is number two.) The answer, obviously, is no, Barefoot is not harming anything. Mr. Casella hits the nail squarely on the head when he asserts that Yellow Tail is “supplying one end of the market that has one type of consumer.” That type of consumer clearly is the value-oriented person who wants a sound varietal wine, at a fair price, which is exactly what Yellow Tail offers.
I’ve never understood this argument that low-priced wine drags down the reputation of its region. That’s just dumb. We have something called market segmentation in wine, as in clothing, cars and just about every other consumer good and service; that’s the way economies work, particularly in complex societies. Nobody ever suggested that a Chevy Aveo was dragging down Cadillac’s reputation, simply because both cars are manufactured by General Motors. Similarly, nobody ever said that Two-Buck Chuck was harming the reputation of California wine. (And by the way, oceans of plonk certainly didn’t interfere with France’s reputation for fine wine.)
I’ve long been a proponent of cheap wine. It allows people of modest means to drink wine (which I believe is in and of itself a good thing, since wine has a civilizing effect on humankind). Throughout all of history, people have had a need for inexpensive wine, and producers like Yellow Tail, Barefoot and Two-Buck Chuck fulfill that market niche with professionalism and aplomb.
Now, it may well be that some Americans viewed Australia through the lens of Yellow Tail (or other low-priced brands that flooded the U.S.). But that’s not Yellow Tail’s fault: it’s the fault of wine educators, including writers, somms and merchants. It’s a big, complicated world out there; I think consumers are interested in learning more about imported wines, if only someone would give them the chance.
Incidentally, although I’ve never reviewed Yellow Tail, my colleague at Wine Enthusiast, Joe Czerwinski, routinely does, and he’s given it lots of “Best Buys.” I have a feeling I would, too, if I covered the wines of Australia. So I give credit to Yellow Tail.
“Elegant” is one of those words critics love to use to describe wine, but it sure must befuddle civilians. Here’s Hugh Johnson referring to “elegant reds” from Portugal. Jancis Robinson calls a Spanish red “elegant” in this tweet. Antonio Galloni says some ’06 Barolos have elegance. Steve Tanzer calls a Paso Robles Rhône-style blend elegant, while I myself said the Riberas I tasted in San Francisco last year possessed “great elegance.”
What does elegance mean, anyhow? Its roots go back through French to the Latin verb ligare, which means “to tie, bind, unite,” which in turn seems tied to another old Latin word, eligere, “to select” (from which our word “election” derives). The modern meaning of elegant, of course, is “dignified richness and grace, as of design, dress, style, etc.” (according to my Webster’s New World Dictionary).
It’s hard to define just what any of these terms mean. I have young hip-hoppy friends who probably would never use the word “elegant” to describe anything, thinking it poofy; but in their own way, they know an elegant rap when they hear one. So there’s an element of culture (or class) that comes into play when you use words like “elegant.”
But let’s stick to wine. All the critics are throwing the e-word around, even though nobody’s quite sure what it means when it comes to that liquid in the glass. So let’s break it down. I can speak only for myself, but I think my views are widely shared. An “elegant” wine, first of all, has a certain mouthfeel. In my own vocabulary I use words like “silky” and “velvety,” which of course suggest images of fine fabrics, like taffeta or old tapestries. These are expensive items to buy; the implication is that “elegant” pertains to costly wines. It takes quite a bit of work (in both the vineyard and the winery) for the winemaker to create that mouthfeel, and the cost of doing so eventually finds its way into the price of the bottle.
But “elegant” is much more than just mouthfeel. There are silky wines that are mediocre. To truly be “elegant” the wine must also be superbly balanced: in acids, tannins, alcohol, fruit and oak. It might be so tannic that you can hardly drink it young, but that doesn’t preclude elegance: classified growth Bordeaux is famously elegant even though it needs years in the cellar. I’d add complexity to the list of qualities implied by “elegance.” Just as a tapestry is so complex you can look at it for a long time and keep seeing new things, so too an elegant wine only gradually unfolds itself.
It might be easier to break it down if I look at specific wines I’ve called elegant in the last month or so. The Amici 2010 Cabernet Sauvignon, from Napa Valley, got the word, as did the 2010 Truchard, from Carneros, and the 2009 Arrowood, from Sonoma County. Moving on to Chardonnay, I called Falcone’s 2012 “elegant,” but I also found elegance in Retro’s 2009 Old Vine Petite Sirah, from Howell Mountain. You don’t usually associate brawny, muscular Petite Sirah with elegance, any more than you associate Jesse Ventura (remember him?) with elegance. But a big man can be elegant: Orson Welles, in late middle age, was. Pinot Noir is famously elegant; Williams Selyem’s 2011 Allen Vineyard defines that quality, even as the wine itself is brooding and needs plenty of time in the bottle.
It may be clarifying to draw analogies to other consumer goods. Tailored clothing is easy to describe as elegant: a great suit (men’s or women’s), a fine necktie, a stylish pair of Italian loafers, even a well-cut pair of jeans. Cars can be elegant: I think Audis and BMWs are, with their stylish lines. Actors can be elegant: Claire Danes, Gwyneth Paltrow and George Clooney come to mind. On the other hand, the following actors are not elegant: Adam Sandler, Kathy Bates, Jack Black, Russell Crowe. This doesn’t mean they’re not great, likeable actors. It just means that, whatever “elegant” means, they don’t have it.
Michael Broadbent, in his Pocket Guide to Wine Tasting (a useful book whose diminutive size belies its trove of information), describes an “elegant” wine as one possessing “stylish balance and refined quality.” Again, these words are, by themselves, hard to define. But, as Justice Potter Stewart once said of pornography, he couldn’t define it, “but I know it when I see it.”
The Baby Boomers, of which I am one, were born during an era (1946-1964) when Americans did not drink wine. If the average U.S. adult drank anything alcoholic at all, it was the occasional beer or cocktail.
Yes, there was plenty of plonk coming out of California with names like Roma Sauternes, Petri Port, Guasti Pale Dry Sherry and, on a higher note, varietal wines from the likes of Sebastani, Charles Krug and Inglenook. But for the most part wine was a special occasion beverage. Consumers didn’t understand it; and why should they have, when for a generation it had been illegal under Prohibition?
That wine appreciation in America exploded as soon as the Baby Boomers came of age is indisputable. But I don’t think the story has been told concerning how and why this happened. Certainly, two forces intersected: one was the Boomers’ disposable income. When they began reaching adulthood, in the late 1960s but especially in the 1970s, they went to work and suddenly had money in their pockets–money they were willing to spend on wine.
The other force–connected to the first–was the rise of the boutique winery movement in California. This meant an increasingly steady supply of high-class wine product to the restaurants and stores of the nation. Boomers with an appetite for fine wine had no trouble finding it, despite the mangled and anachronistic distribution laws left in place after Repeal.
But why were Boomers willing to spend their hard-earned money on wine? I can come up only with anecdotal conjecture, but I think it’s largely accurate. Boomers had grown up with a philosophical attitude of openness to anything life has to offer. They (we) were willing to try anything at least once, be it pharmaceutical, sexual or lifestyle-related, in order to see if that thing provided pleasure. If it did–and if it didn’t entail excessive risk (as, say, heroin did)–then Boomers were happy to incorporate it into their lifestyle.
But this isn’t enough to explain just why Boomers so forcefully turned to wine. Part of it also had to do with their embrace of a food culture. Prior to the rise of the Boomers, food in America was a pretty dreary part of life: necessary but uninspiring. The woman took care of the shopping and cooking; the men occasionally took the wife and kiddies out to a restaurant. What differentiated the Boomers, male and female alike, from their parents was an eagerness to explore the further reaches of food. Sometimes this meant explorations into vegetarianism or macrobiotic cooking; sometimes it was inspired by the new phenomenon of televised cooking shows, such as Julia Childs’s. Young Boomers also were great travelers. In the 1970s, it seemed like everyone was spending a summer on Ibiza, or Mallorca, or in Nepal or Tangiers or Tokyo, or just hitchhiking their way across the U.S., coming across regional cuisines. At that time, American tastes in food hadn’t yet been homogenized: there still were authentic cuisines from the south, midwest, Texas, New England, San Francisco. Returning home, the kids brought their new-found food fondness with them.
In the early 1970s I had a friend who started a restaurant in western Massachusetts, The Noble Feast, that was the first “nouvelle cuisine” place in that part of the state (although we didn’t think of it that way). Alan Harris’s menu emphasized fresh, regional ingredients, and while it leaned on French technique, there was something fresh, pure and, yes, “American” about it. People drove for miles to eat at The Noble Feast because they couldn’t find food like that anyplace else.
This still doesn’t fully explain the Boomers’ mad love of fine wine. By the late 1970s there had arisen a cottage industry of wine writers publishing how-to pocket guides; but it’s a chicken-and-egg argument over which came first: the writers or the consumers, and at any rate it’s likely that both of these phenomena were created by the same underlying force.
In the end, I think the miracle of the Boomers love affair with fine wine is inexplicable, as so many other cultural milestones are. Sometimes you can pin huge shifts in the society on specific things: J.F.K.’s assassination, whose 50th anniversary is coming up, marked the end of a certain political naivete in America and inaugurated a heightened level of dark skepticism that persists to this day.
No such single event can be attached to wine’s rise, not even the 1976 Paris Tasting which, important as it’s become in retrospect, was not particularly noticed at the time. We can assign perhaps other tendencies on the part of the Boomers that fueled their appreciation of wine. With the country’s demographic shift westward, California’s population exploded during those years, bringing Boomers closer to both a lifestyle that embraced wine and to the actual physical centers of production. (It wasn’t until I moved to California in 1978 that I discovered wine.) A steadily expanding national economy throughout the 1980s and 1990s (ah, the good old days) assured Boomers of having the cash for a nice bottle. And an expanding sense that wine was part of “the good life” (a sense echoed in the popular media, which always is looking to report on trends) somehow impinged upon the brains of countless Boomers, for whom living a good life always was a high priority.
The result has been what we see today: Wine at the forefront of American culture. Before the Boomers, wine was nothing. Once they came upon the scene, wine exploded in popularity. No Boomers, no wine. (No rock and roll either.) Give us credit.
I am increasingly excited by prospects of a great vintage in California for 2013.
Longtime readers of mine know that my view of vintages is that, in general, you can’t really tell the overall quality until a number of years have passed and you’ve tasted enough wines in bottle to see how they’re actually doing, as opposed to how you thought they should be doing. It’s true that most wine periodicals, including Wine Enthusiast, ask us writers to predict the quality of a vintage almost as soon as it’s over, but I’ve always striven to let readers know that such appraisals are at best preliminary educated guesses.
The last time I felt in my bones that a vintage was great, and that predictions of its quality didn’t need to be hedged, was 2007. Even at the time, I was calling it “the vintage of the century,” and quoting winemakers who were similarly excited. Jason Drew, at Drew Family Cellars, had told me “It’s hard for me to contain myself,” he was so pleased. True, some rain came by early October, as it almost always does; but, as I noted at the time, “Luckily, once it stopped raining, warm sunshine came back and late ripeners, like Cabernet, dried out.” And indeed, 2007 has turned out to be one of those perfect California vintages where the wines were opulent right out of the bottle, but also ageworthy.
This year has been even better. Steady-as-she-goes might be the byword. There was no killer frost in the spring, no wildfires to give smoke taint to the grapes, very little in the way of heat waves, no huge production as there was last vintage, and as for that pesky rainstorm a few weeks ago, despite some concerns at the time, all it ended up doing was washing the dust off the grapes.
I always say that grapes like the same kind of weather we humans do; and we humans have been liking this summer, especially the last two months, which are the crucial ones from the harvest’s point of view. I emailed my friend, our local Channel 2’s morning meteorologist, Steve Paulson, to ask him, “I know that Sept-Oct are always described as our best weather months [in California]. But, after 35 years in the Bay Area, I can’t remember more gorgeous weather than this year. Except for that weird storm a few weeks ago (which actually was good for the grapes), the weather has been spectacular. Do you agree?” Steve replied, “I would agree! Sept/Oct. 2013 has been beautiful. Best I can remember too. Cool nights, sunny and mild to warm days. No extremes either way. The ‘weird’ rain was great in my mind. Loved it. After nearly 9 months of no rain, it was what I hope is a good sign for more ran this Winter.” So even the weatherman knows which way the wind is blowing.
For those of you who don’t know, Steve’s reference to “nearly 9 months of no rain” underscores the severity of the drought that is gripping California the last two years. The Central Coast has been hard-hit; reports of not enough water for the grapes have been coming in for months. And just the other day, Western Farm Press reported on widespread “trepidation” among growers of all crops (not just grapes) due to “not know[ing] if they will have water…next season.”
At any rate, whatever late ripeners are left on the vine should be gathered in the next few weeks under fine, sunny skies. The next eight days or so will see continued warm [but not hot] days, with clear skies and breezy conditions. As for the winter of 2013-2014, Steve Paulson’s hope for more rain seems to be in the offing: AccuWeather is predicting that “From December through January, California will enter a period of heavy precipitation resulting in much-needed relief from the extreme drought.”
Nicholas Miller, of the family that owns the Bien Nacido and other vineyards in Santa Barbara County, says of 2013, “From a quality perspective, this is what people dream of!” I’ll just add that, even before tasting a single barrel sample from 2013, I predict that this vintage will be one for the history books.
In the 1950 movie, Sunset Boulevard, a slightly gaga Gloria Swanson, playing Norma Desmond, an aging Hollywood movie star past her sell-by date, sits in the gloom of her mansion’s movie room watching old silent films of herself with her employee, played by William Holden, who tries to pretend he’s not freaked out by his boss’s increasing dottiness. At one point, Norma’s dipsy stroll down memory lane bursts into an insane marathon.
“We didn’t need dialog, we had faces,” she muses, as Holden’s character squirms. “There just aren’t any faces like that anymore.” Then, she begins to shriek. “Have they forgotten what a star looks like?” [Here’s a clip of that great scene.]
“Where are the faces”? was the theme of a speech given last week by California’s Lieutenant Governor, Gavin Newsom. Speaking at the California Wine Summit, Gavin didn’t use that precise phrasing, but the absence of faces in promoting California wine was clearly what he meant by the lack of “high-profile personalities” to “project our image. I argue that there is now a vacuum of leadership and we as an industry need to reconcile that quickly.”
It is demonstrably true that the California wine industry no longer has giants of the stature of Robert Mondavi, Andre Tchelistcheff, Jess Jackson and Ernest and Julio Gallo. These men were famous beyond their considerable achievements; indeed, they were “high-profile personalities,” as well known to millions of Americans as movie stars or sports heroes. They were Faces. It’s impossible to imagine California wine being what it is today if they hadn’t been here to promote it.
Do we have faces today? Some years ago, I speculated that Bill Harlan was emerging as a replacement in Napa Valley for Robert Mondavi (not that anyone ever could replace him). Bill was building up his winery empire and increasingly emerging from his relative seclusion to make himself available to the public via the media. But, for whatever reason, Bill changed tack. Perhaps sticking his toe in the water determined for him that this was not something he really wanted to do.
I know the California wine industry pretty thoroughly. When I ask myself, “Who are the modern faces,” some names arise. Peter Mondavi, Sr., Joseph E. Gallo and Mike Grgich remain actively at their posts. There also are many men and, thankfully now, women in their 50s and 60s who are carrying the torch forward; I wouldn’t begin to list them because I’d have to leave some names out. But I think it’s fair to say that no one alive today carries the sheer weight that our late, great giants did. So, in that sense, I have to agree with Gavin.
Could Gavin himself be the man? He’s pretty actively involved in all aspects of his wine business (the PlumpJack Hospitality Group). But he’s also a professional politician holding a fulltime job, and he may well have ambitions that would carry him considerably further than California’s Lieutenant Governorship. To be a Face in the wine industry pretty much requires a 24/7 commitment to your work, which is something that Gavin is not capable of at this time.
Why do we no longer have faces? Another speaker at the Summit, Wine Institute president and CEO Bobby Koch, observed, “It’s only natural that when you lose the pioneers like Robert Mondavi, Ernest Gallo or Joe Heitz you lose something important to our industry, and the next generation are not the founders so it is a bit different.” We tend to lionize founders and discoverers, the Christropher Columbuses who found new worlds. Those who follow in their footsteps may be equally accomplished, but may find themselves overshadowed by the giants.
Koch added, on a hopeful note, “We will see more of the second, third or fourth generation stepping up.” I have no doubt that that is happening now; from Santa Barbara to the Sierra Foothills, the kids, grandkids and even great-grandkids of pioneers are keeping the wine industry moving forward.
But I do wonder if California will ever again boast superstars, famous the world over, whose very names are household words that imply everything California wine has to offer. So if I conclude by asking, “Where are the faces?”, it’s not an accusation, it’s a lamentation.
I got miffed the other day at someone I love. We hadn’t seen each other in quite a while, and agreed to meet up in Oakland to catch up. No sooner had we kissed cheeks than she whipped out her iPhone and began fumbling with it.
I had thought that we’d chat for a while. “How are you? What’s new”–and do the real social thing, which is human interaction and communication. Instead, within 30 seconds of greeting each other, the lady was totally absorbed in trying to download a photo to her Facebook page.
Well, I took some umbrage at that. But what can you do? Fifty million Frenchmen can’t be wrong. Yesterday, I was having lunch with two young friends, both in their twenties, a prime demographic for living the online life. I laid out my case: People spend too much time gazing into blue screens, and not enough time in the real world, perceiving the things around them, making eye contact, talking to actual people instead of digital ones.
I was surprised that my two young friends agreed with me.
A few weeks ago, a man on a bus in San Francisco shot another man in the back, in what police called a random shooting. The victim died. This would be just another shocking case of senseless violence, except for this telltale fact: Although the shooter had raised and lowered his gun “several…times,” pointing it down the aisle of a crowded bus, no one on the packed bus reacted, or even saw it. Instead, “Their eyes, focused on smartphones and tablets, don’t lift until the gunman fires a bullet…”.
Their eyes could block out the reality around them, but their ears couldn’t. The San Francisco Chronicle, in reporting this troubling incident, headlined the article “Absorbed device users oblivious to danger.”
With all this fresh in my head, when I sat down at the computer yesterday morning, I found an online article through LinkedIn Today. The title, “Why Small Business Isn’t Winning on Social,” grabbed my attention, as a good headline should. I clicked on the link.
The article made some good, if hardly newsworthy, points: that lots of mom-and-pop businesses aren’t trying social media because they believe they can’t afford the time or the money. The author made the additional point that “many” social media consultants “can be dishonest about the realities of what they can do for their client,” which is something I’ve been saying about the social media consulting complex for years. (“Give me your money. I promise ROI!”) I thought it was pretty cool for the writer, who was obviously a proponent of social media, to admit that the field is riddled with fraud.
But my jaw dropped when, at the end of the article, the author came out and said the main problem with small businesses is that they don’t spend enough time at social media. He estimated it takes “a solid 9-10 hours a day of work”!!! I had to reread that. Didn’t he mean 9-10 hours a week? No, a day.
Can you imagine spending 9-10 hours a day doing social media? It’s impossible for me to wrap my head around that. How would it even be possible, with everything else that people do, such as working, commuting, eating, raising kids, walking the dog, reading a book, keeping up with the news, maintaining actual relationships with friends, working out at the gym, and, oh yes, sleeping?
The author has an answer for that: “You can always sleep a few hours less every week.” This, in a nation where “insufficient sleep is [already] a public health epidemic,” according to the Centers for Disease Control.
When I got to the end of the article, still gob-smacked and incredulous, I realized who had written it, and why. “You can find out more,” the author concluded, “at garyvaynerchuk.com.”
An admiration for female beauty, brought to extreme, over-the-top stylization, is what characterizes the Drag Queen: the man who takes on the appearance of a particular sort of woman, often a celebrity: Judy Garland, Cher, Diana Ross, Carol Channing, Joan Crawford, Dolly Parton, Barbra Steisand. These are women already exaggerated, by hairstyle, makeup, attire, fame and attitude, to iconic excess. The Drag Queen, in turn, exaggerates the exaggeration, creating (she hopes) a work of art and wonder.
Almost always, Drag Queens take on an assumed name that is as much a parody of real names as their appearance is of real women. Divine, Chi Chi LaRue, The Lady Chablis and, from La Cage Aux Folles, Miss ZaZa Napoli suggest the sexually exotic plumage of their owners. The true Drag Queen, as the U.C. Berkeley philosopher Judith Butler notes, “radicalizes the norms of gender performance,” making drag far more than mere masquerade; indeed, no Drag Queen in history ever intended to pass as a woman (the way a cross-dresser might). Butler correctly understands that Drag is performance art, combining the flamboyance of Hollywood with the mind-bending challenge of genderfuck.
Is Drag then deliberately provocative? Considering that most Drag Queens restrict their professional activities to appropriate circles (drag balls, drag bars, GLBT parades) in which no one is particularly shocked, but rather gladdened by them, the answer is no. Drag Queens wish to be taken seriously, but on their own terms, and mainly (and this is an important consideration) by those who understand them. Drag isn’t easy. The successful Drag Queen has spent many years and thousands of dollars to create her own, special brand. She doesn’t just throw on a wig, paint her eyelids blue and put on a ball gown. The costs are considerable, involving waxing, wigs, jewelry, false fingernails, lipsticks, hair sprays, brushes and puffs, perfumes, fake eyelashes, designer shoes, foam rubber breasts, and, of course, the dresses and accessories themselves, which can cost as much as a new car. Beyond all that, the most successful Drag Queens are expected to throw extravagant parties, especially if they are running for election in the numerous “Royal Courts” that practically every American city has. Empress V Cha Cha, a famous queen from San Francisco, once told me she’d spent $22,000 on entertainment expenses in a single season, all of it out of her own (not very well-padded) pocket.
Let us now consider cult Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignons and Bordeaux blends. Just as there is “regular” Napa Valley Cabernet (no slouch, that), so too the cults have to exaggerate that style and become much more than regular. If that means riper fruit and more new oak, and perhaps a little Mega Purple, then so be it: People expect flamboyance in their cult Cabs. A “regular” Cabernet doesn’t stun; it’s simply a good wine. A cult Cab is expected to stun, to stand out, to elicit gasps of surprise. It “radicalizes the norm” of standard Cabernet.
Nor are cult wines meant for the masses. Cult Cabs are designed (I choose that verb deliberately) for the connoisseur: the person who likes and appreciates them, who has some understanding of what goes on behind the scenes in crafting one (famous-name winemaker, equally famous flying winemaker, famous proprietor, the glamorous architecture and appointments of most cult wine headquarters, the expensive new French oak barrels, the exclusive mailing list). Just as you or I might try to keep from staring at The Lady Larissa (with her exquisitely blond beauty), but would steal glimpses of her because she is, after all, a work of art, so too is the connoisseur of cult wines above all fascinated by the artistry in the bottle (and often of the bottle). The connoisseur prides himself on possessing the knowledge to recognize the artistry of a cult wine, in the same way that the best admirer of a superbly-made up Drag Queen is another Drag Queen. Only they know how much trouble it takes to look that good.
What of names? Cult wine designations themselves can sound like Drag Queens: Maya. Les Pavots. Cariad. Screaming Eagle, when you think about it, could easily be Lady Screaming Eagle, part Joan Crawford “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” horror show, part vampiric Angelina Jolie. The camp aspect of cult wines lies in their appeal, in the way they elevate us by allowing us to share in their mystery–even if we ourselves are ordinary mere mortals. Just as Americans are fascinated by the celebrities who adorn the covers of supermarket tabloids, so cult connoisseurs are fascinated by the most elite and expensive Napa Valley Cabernets. These wines are the Drag Queens of wine: exotic, unfathomable, exaggeratedly gorgeous, glamorous, worshipful and a little insane: all that effort for something so ephemeral (wine is drank and pissed out; makeup is washed off when the party’s over). The quibble (which almost all wine critics routinely note) is that cult Cabernet, as a “star” wine, is not really suitable for everyday pairing with food; like diva Drag Queens, the cult Cab selfishly demands to be loved on her own, without competition. And, finally, like the great diva Drag Queens, each cult wine has its groupies. Drags have their courts; with cult wines, they’re called mailing list members.