 I look forward to working closely with you over your tenure. And I wanted to point everybody's attention to a lunch salon today with some NEA staff members who will be sharing their best practices and answering your questions about NEA grant proposals. We're really grateful to have you here. And right now we are particularly grateful to welcome actor Mark Zeisler to the stage to help us give the award named in his father's honor the Peter Zeisler Memorial Award. Thank you, Kevin. Good morning, everyone. Coming out on you, I am struck by how excited my father would be to be here in the midst of such a robust and energetic conference as we engage here in dialogue with each other, taking a hard look at some of the challenges that are facing us as we move through this decade, and at the same time listening to and learning from some of our most fascinating storytellers. For the many of us here who were lucky enough to have him in our lives, Peter was a cajola, a visionary, a conciliator, funny, a cervic, and as Tony Kushner once described him with affection and admiration, the definition of a difficult Jewish man. I can also hear his voice this morning, his wise and often wise ass voice, chiding us all for even thinking of celebrating his life and work, and imploring us in no uncertain and probably profane terms to roll up our sleeves and just get back to work. This year marks the tenth year of my father's passing and the tenth awarding of an award in his name by TCG. The Peter Zeisler Award recognizes an individual organization whose work reflects and promotes the ingenuity and artistic integrity that my father prized. The honorees exemplify pioneering practices in theater are dedicated to the freedom of expression and are unafraid of taking risks for the advancement of the art form. In honor of Peter's uncanny ability to introduce talent to the rest of the field, the recipients have not been recognized nationally for their work. This year we honor Lear de Bessonnet, who is expanding the ideas and boundaries of traditional theater for audiences and for her colleagues alike. She is the founder and director of the Public Works at the Public Theater in New York and audiences there have discovered the fevered intensity of her creative ideas and productions of both the Tempest and the Winter's Tale at the Delacorte, which featured gospel choirs, marching bands, park rangers, and taxi drivers. Her previous large-scale community projects include the Odyssey at the Old Globe and her site-specific Don Quixote, collaboration with homeless shelter Broad Street Ministry and the Punk Chipsy Ensemble of Assaulters. She received Obey and Lily Awards and a drama desk nomination for a direction of good person of Szechuan at the Foundry at La Mama and at the Public. She recently directed Pump Boys and Dinettes for Encore's Off-Center and has directed shows for LCT3, The Old Globe, The Intamin, The Guthrie, Joe's Pub, The Women's Project, PS122, 13P, and Club Thumb. For 10,000 Things in Minneapolis she directed productions of My Fair Lady as You Like It and the Music Man that toured to prisons, community centers, and homeless shelters. She is the recipient of LMCC's Presidential Award for Artistic Excellence in the Meadows Prize, and if that weren't enough, she has also acted as a visiting professor at NYU Tisch School of the Arts. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my distinct pleasure to present the 2015 Peter Zeisler Award to Lear DeBessonet. How's that? Take that. Thank you. All right. Thank you. All right. Thank you. Thank you. Oh, thank you. Thanks. I think they want a picture. Should we give them a picture? Yes. Give them a picture with it. Yes. Thank you guys so much. Thank you, TCG, and thank you especially Mark Zeisler. I am so honored to be here in this room full of people that I love and respect. I'm proud to be part of the deep and wide tradition of community-engaged work that's happening with spectacular energy all over this country, and I'm proud to accept this award not as an individual but on behalf of Public Works and the literally hundreds of people whose hearts and guts and can-do attitude have made its success. Three years ago, the public theater really leapt into the unknown with Public Works. The proposal was simple, that we would create a 200-person pageant style production of the Tempest in collaboration with community groups all over New York, but more so that we would create a new department of the public that would do this work in an ongoing longitude no way. I stand up here today because of my colleagues at the public who have been completely relentless about making this work possible, who have said, this will succeed because we will troubleshoot and we will keep learning and believe and not give up. We have had staff members from the producing department, the general management department, the marketing department, the press department, front of house, all coloring so far outside the lines, extending themselves in extraordinary ways in service of a radically inclusive view of theater, and they have done so with rigor and humor and delight. We have had public theater staff saying, sure, we will figure out a way to create 156 more dressing room spaces than we've ever needed before. Yes, we will negotiate the contract with the capoeira dancers and the Chinese lions and the stilt walkers. Hey, I know I'm the director of finance, but you need someone to wear a bare suit in the winter's tale? Not a problem. That happened, Danny Williams. They have also said, yes, we will design and tailor a unique immaculate costume for every single person. Yes, we will hold aside free tickets to Hamilton for your public works people, even though scalpers are selling them for $3,000 online. Yes, we will treat every single person who walks through this door like they are a VIP, just as important as a fancy donor or a board member. I have received so much love and yes from this staff, and it's what allows me to do what I do. I think the reason they say yes is the acknowledgement that unless we say yes, nothing changes, and we know things have to change, and we want them to change, so that we can all move towards a future in which our theater reflects and celebrates the cities that we live in. This morning I thank my colleagues, I also thank Michelle Hensley of 10,000 Things who mentored me in this work and whose voice I hold in my head daily. I most of all thank my boss and friend, the lion-hearted Oscar Eustace, who has changed my life. It is because of him that this work has thrived at the public and lives at the heart of the institution rather than on its margins, and personally I will never be able to thank him enough for what he's done for me. Lastly, we at the public are very interested in supporting and walking alongside others who are doing this work as well. We're in the process right now of building our first national cohort that includes Dallas Theater Center and SMU, Seattle Rep, and Mosaic Youth Theater in Detroit. So if there is a way that we can be helpful to anyone else, if you're interested in being part of that, please be in touch. Thank you all. Thank you so very much for this recognition. Thank you, Lear, and congratulations. Now for the past several years, TCG has featured an artist in conversation about the work. Folks like Julie Tamar, Taymor, Aad Aakhtar, and Taylor Mack. This year we are so fortunate to have Lisa Crone joining us. Yeah! She is a TCG published playwright, a Tony Award winner for her adaptation of Fun Home, and a Tony Award nominee for her performance in Well, which she also wrote. In addition to her many notable roles as playwright and performer, she's also a founding member of the OB Award-winning Collaborative Theater Company, the five lesbian brothers. In 2013, she had the unique opportunity of having Fun Home open at the public theater while at the same time in the same building she was performing in a production of Good Person of Seshwan. So we thought, who better to talk with Lisa Crone than the artistic director of the public theater, Oscar Eustace. I could spend the rest of this session sharing Oscar's long list of credits from commissioning Tony Kushner's Angels in America to premiering two Broadway bound plays in as many years in Fun Home and Hamilton. But time is short, so let's just get them up here. Please join me in welcoming Oscar Eustace and Lisa Crone to the stage. Thank you, Kevin. Congratulations on Fun Home, Lisa. That was the most beautiful thing. Who would have thought? Nobody. Lesbian comedian, monologuist, autobiographical monologuist, playwright, musical theater book and lyricist. Extraordinary journey. Wow, start. The wow was a little... Right. It's a vocation. It chooses you. You don't choose it, I think. And I didn't see plays when I was a kid. I mean, it feels to me like being gay, you know, some little boy in Oklahoma who just for some reason he can't explain loves Judy Garland, you know. And how would he even know that? That's sort of how I found theater, you know. Right, right. So, you know, I was a theater, you know, sort of back my way into a theater major in college and then very fortunately ended up touring in a national repertory company for a year after college and then, you know, eventually moved to New York. And there's lots to say about the equity showcases that I was in. But I won't do that. But, you know, the most fortunate thing that ever happened to me was that I, somebody said there's this group called Split Riches and you need to see them. And I went and I saw Peggy Shaw, Lois Weaver and Denmark Olin do their show Split Riches. And it was, I mean, Paula Vogel who is here somewhere, you know, talks about the God play, you know, the play that you see that changes your life. I mean, that was my God play. That was, you know, I never imagined that such a thing could exist. And what was it about it? You know, I keep trying to articulate it, a different paradigm than anything I had imagined. Formally, it operated, you know, I was from Midwest and it was non-linear. And I think that was part of it. I was like, how are these things happening? And it was, you know, deeply full imagination of it was so extravagant. And I think the other thing was that the center of the world, the center, the point of view at the center of that play was this, we talk about, you know, parody and diversity and we say this thing like people need to hear their own stories. We need to hear all those people's stories. There's something that always rankled me about it. And I realized recently, and maybe some of you have heard me say this because I've been sort of obsessed with it and saying it a lot, is that actually we don't, and of course we need people to tell their own stories. But what we really want is to hear people from who have different experiences telling the story of the world. That's what we need. We need women, you know, all kinds of different people to assume that the story of the world gets told by the traditional people who we've heard tell that story. So I think that was what happened. And I think it has influenced, you know, and then I started hanging out at Wow. And which was, you know, this lesbian theater collective and you would just, anybody who wanted to do a show could do a show. You just had to do sweat equity on other people's shows and every year we would go upstate and we'd have this retreat and we'd sit in a circle and people would say what they wanted for the next year if they wanted a show. And every year, you know, there would be like five people who said they wanted a show and I would think this is going to be a disaster. And the thing about those shows was that, you know, a lot of them were hot messes but there was always something that happened on those stages and in those shows that was so incredible. And the theater that was, I mean, and it certainly informed my early shows, 120 million stories and 2.5 and well, the sort of meta-theatricality of those shows came from watching theater being made by people who did not know how theater was supposed to look. And then I became very interested in the line between a person on stage performing and a person in a room with other people and what that mechanism was which is fundamental to theater. But anyway, so there was, you know, sort of like, I mean it was an amateur theater in the best, most dynamic sense and there was an electricity between the audience and what was happening on stage which was not, you know, it was culture in the deepest sense in that that was the place where we lived. That was the place when we weren't at our temp jobs, we were at the Wao Cafe and we were just making shows all the time. So it was how we lived our lives. It was where we, just everything that happened to us was processed through the constant making of performance and theater in that space. So there was a lot of, you know, at that point in the 80s there was a lot of people who were starting to look at what was happening in East Village and, you know, things were starting to move uptown or HBO and Showtime were filming things and people were getting, and the press was certainly writing about the things that were happening down there starting to. Nobody was writing about, well, we were off the radar for so long. It was actually academics. I mean it was a few people at the voice. It was Alyssa Solomon. It was Sikar who started to write about us a little bit, but mostly we were ignored, which was enraging. But on the other hand, I think now it was one of the greatest things that ever happened to me because there was no reason to be there, the curiosity and delight of seeing what we could put on stage. There was no idea that there was a, and I think when I talked to young people, they're always so surprised about this, that I had no, there was no, this was a career move. I either have to pick something else, at some point I'm going to have to figure out what I want to do with my life because this is like all I want to do is be at Wow and making these shows, but that's not, that's going to give me nowhere, you know, in terms of any kind of. But it did what a classic Bohemia does, which gives you a period of time in which you've separated from the values and judgments of the dominant culture and you're allowed to develop your own set of criteria about what you liked and what, what you thought was a value. That's right, yeah. And then one-on-one emulating stories, 2.5, it starts to morph into your solo work. Right, yeah. I mean I, I mean just sort of briefly, you know, I did a, somebody used to do a Variety Night. And so I, I, you know, nobody rehearsed it well, certainly for the Variety Nights, but I had come from my, you know, undergraduate theater background and so I hired an accompanist and I rented a rehearsal space and I rehearsed this Victorian novelty song I used to sing called I Saw Skars. And then I did it at the Variety Night and I liked a funny anecdote and so I had this, you know, a series of funny anecdotes that I'd been honing through my whole life and I told a couple of those and I did the Variety Night, it was, while I was on East 4th Street, the stage was like, like 10 by 10 and it was in a tenement and then I went out the back door of the tenement and out onto the street it was like a Sunday afternoon and this person said to me, there's still a clotting, you have to do more. Somebody said, oh you did that thing, do you want a show? Do you want to do your own show? And I was like, okay. Because I, I sort of just had, I was scared of everything but I had this rule that if somebody opened a door I had to walk through it. And so I, Good rule. Yes, good rule, yes, certainly well. And so I, and I rehearsed like five songs and then I sat in my apartment on the Upper East Side and ate a lot of Intamin's Cookies and thought that show's getting closer and then made a, and then I had, it was two nights, like 11 o'clock at night after the main stage show, which was called Hiroshima Beach Party and the set was Sand and so we swept the sand to the sides and then I put in the piano, it was so small that the piano was in that audience but I taped my like list of stories to the Upstage side of the piano and then I told my stories and I sang my songs and it went fantastically. It was amazing, both nights and you know it started with a certain number of people, a lot of people from my, the office where I was temping came and then, and then people kept coming in off the street while I was performing and it got fuller and fuller and fuller and I was like, that's later I did another show and it was terrible. Essentially then I spent trying to learn the skills to figure out what it was that I had done sort of instinctively in that first show and there wasn't just, wow at that point, you know that was the sort of the, you know the heyday of the East Village and so there were little clubs all over and I felt like I got to be trained like a vaudevillian you know, just go from stage to stage to stage and as you moved into, I don't want to say more traditional plays but more actual play structures like With Well and In the Wake, you've also thought a lot about what makes a play a play. Right. And I wonder if you could talk a little bit because I've heard you discourse brilliantly on this. No it's not. Setting a high bar. Sorry. So, right, I mean I think I kept sort of, you know, trying to figure out one thing and then trying to figure out the next. So the first thing was to figure out how to be consistently funny on stage and then after that I was interested in trying to figure out how to consistently, how to not be funny on stage which was actually kind of a harrowing journey. And by that you mean, when you say how not to be funny, how to do something other than be funny. Yeah. Right. Yeah. And at that point I was doing, sort of full-length solo pieces. The sort of, you know, last big one that I did in that sort of iteration of my work was called All My Hopes and Dreams. And it was, you know, a series of songs. Tom Judson then was writing original songs for me and I had a, you know, group of women in black dresses who they were called the Cremettes and they said we did these numbers. And then I had, you know, just like funny stories and I had slides. I had prop comedians, you know, I had, but I like told, you know, funny anecdotes. But I thought there's something, there's something else and I remember like watching particular Deb Margolin on stage and thinking there's some, there's like resonance, there's like through line, there's something else that I want to get to. And also there was a feeling when I was telling these stories because I had also been, you know, I think one of my initial things was trying to figure out like just as a performer how to hold an audience, you know, what it is to gather an audience's attention and move them through an evening. I thought there's something, there's something else here. Sometimes when I'm telling a story, it has this sort of lift and sometimes it's a little harder to pull it forward. What I eventually realized that I was after was dramatic action. So I was working on this piece called 101 Humiliating Stories and I was looking for somebody to direct it and to help me with it. And this guy named Jamie Leo came to the show and was maybe interested in working with me and afterwards he said this thing to me and he said, you know, you are telling these stories about these various, mostly, you know, quite quotidian humiliations and they're very funny. But he said what we see is actually a person who is very agile and she has turned these stories already into this, you know, once you've turned it into a funny story you've landed on your feet. And he said, I feel like maybe what we need to see is we need to see you be humiliated. Like we need to see that happen. And I thought, right, that seems right, that seems right. And so then we developed this show in which the show was very, I mean, I think it had a certain, one couldn't call it deep, although it had some lovely, I think, resonance to it. I love that show still. But that was the first sort of iteration of that. And then when I was working on a 2.5-minute ride, which is the, this, I wanted to write about my relationship with my father, who's a German Jewish, who's a refugee. His parents did not work, were killed in the concentration camp. The experience, you know, very, it was very late to do this, but I read the diary of Anne Frank and I don't know why I hadn't done it when I was younger, but I had this moment where I was so stunned by it and I thought, oh, she doesn't know what's going to happen. And particularly in trying to write about something that was related to the Holocaust, I kept having this, just feeling about the material, that was something that was so, it was easy to get on this kind of emotional ride that felt or, you know, to push certain buttons and it felt deeply uncomfortable for me. And I started to have this realization that there's a difference between the story of something that happened and the experience of something happening. And so, and I had done an earlier iteration of this show at the La Jolla Playhouse in which I told all these stories about this trip I had taken with my father to his hometown in Germany and then to Auschwitz and then the way my father likes to ride, or did, I mean he's still alive but he doesn't do this anymore, the roller coasters at Cedar Point, Cedar Point Music Park, Ohio and my brother's engagement and then wedding to a woman he met in the Jewish Singles Room of America online. And it had gone quite, quite, you know, the stories were very compelling but there was something that didn't work about it. And so then I had this revelation about dramatic action and it's the, you know, and it is the downfall of, I mean there's, you know, there are a lot of autobiographical solo shows that they're very compelling and storytelling is, you know, an art form older than theater, right, that it is its own art form. But I wanted to make theater. I wanted to have something that had dramatic action. I didn't know what, I couldn't have articulated that as I was trying to work on it but what became clear to me was that if somebody's on stage telling a story, the action in dramatic terms of what happens isn't what's inside the story because we know the end of that story because the end of the story is they're standing on a stage telling you the story about it. And exactly what's happening is that someone's telling you a story and if somebody's telling you a story it's because they need something to happen. They need to, they're trying to create a world that is reflected in that story. They want the world to be whatever that narrative is and either that's going to work out or it's not. And so I felt like two point, and I manifested some of that idea in 101 humiliating stories and then I sort of came to its full fruition in 2.5 minute ride where the action of that piece is that I'm going to tell the audience, I'm going to tell the audience these stories about my father but then other things happen and it sort of spins out of my control and that's the other thing I think that I have been interested in. You know, as I've, you know, so I've been interested in what makes theater different from other art forms particularly as, you know, television and film, those other, they, you know, are much more powerful and have much more cultural currency but I do, I thought that, so what does theater do that's different than that? And you know, it's that limitation of consciousness I think is central. And so I started to develop and I'm still sort of working on these kind of basic physical principles of theater. You know, what are the essentials? And it's not about a play needs to look like this because the forms are all really different. But so one of the things is that the play always has to know more than any of your characters know. And that was the thing about what happened in 101 humiliating stories in 2.5 minute ride is that there's the character of me on stage and also in well. There's the character of me on stage but the play knows more than I do and that's what hooks us in to a play. You know, it's that Oedipus, we can see what his circumstance is we can see more than he can see and he's told what's going to happen to him. He's told what's going to happen and what we can see is why he thinks he's overcome that curse. You know, if at a certain point in that play you ask Oedipus what is the story of his life my story is that I'm a guy who overcame a curse. You know, the reason that we can't stop watching that play and it's still around is that it shows us the limitation of human consciousness. And you know, you can really look at your uvra, your canon, and trace it all the way through to Funhelm and despite the fact that there's different underlying material to Funhelm, that idea that the characters are constantly struggling to figure something out that they know they don't understand yet about the world drama. Or they don't know they don't understand. They don't get particularly in the way. I think often characters believe they know all about the world but we know that they don't. But they're wrong, yeah. But part of what is so beautiful about Funhelm if I can jump is that you actually dramatize in Funhelm the search of Allison trying to figure out her own story. That becomes the event of Funhelm, the dramatic event. And take a minute to just talk about 16 openings and the writing of Funhelm. Yeah, that was very challenging to dramatize. To dramatize. One is an artist making art. But it's not. But you know, the thing is that when you're making something, you feel like it will kill you. Which someone's like, I have to finish this cartoon or it will kill me. You're like, well then, you know, what everyone is remembering. You know, to remember. So the question is what is active about remembering? What actually happens to you? Why do you need to remember and what's active about it? And then how, I think eventually what we did was to, we had to step past the surface of art making inside of her consciousness so that we could see something that people had. We must do it and that it will kill us if we can't figure that thing out. Pushing past, you know, taking out that surface of drawing and it shows up around the outside of, you know, we get little glimpses of it. And as the piece goes on, we start to see it a little bit more. And what was so brilliant about watching you work on it is to go from the literal thing of starting where the making of the cartoons, the drawing of the book is the issue, to pushing past that to, why is drawing the cartoon of importance? Because I've got to figure out how I'm like my father and how I'm different than my father. And the only way to figure that out is to figure out something about my father and about a relationship. And in doing so, I have to say that my favorite Lisa Crone quote of all time was closing night at the public, where you said to the cast, so many people have told me that this is bigger than just a lesbian show. And I've decided this is exactly the size of a lesbian show. Because what that statement did to me is it takes back to the beginning of this conversation is that what's crucial about Fun Home is not simply that there are bold, proud lesbian characters. It's that those characters are speaking for all of us. And you watch that happen to the audience in the most extraordinary way. People you know are homophobic, are weeping and standing up at the end because they have identified these characters, these lesbians have become every man for them, have stood in for all of us. And that's when the game really starts to change. That's when it turns. We've got just a minute or two for questions. I think there are people with microphones. If there's anybody out there who would like to ask Lisa a question in public in front of your peers. I know it's early, but come on guys, you don't get this opportunity. Hello. My name is Ross Williams. I'm the Artistic Director of New York Shakespeare Exchange. I'm really interested to know more about what you were saying, the tenets of what makes theatricality and this list that you're forming. I'd love to hear more ideas about that and how I'm particularly interested in why there seems to be a trend to create theater that could be done just as easily as film and that we as film and finding the theatricality instead. So I'd love to hear what you have to say about that. I'll just say a couple of quick things. The first one is Reid Thornton Wilder's essay in his play American Characteristics about plays because he talks about, you know, there's no, you know, I was sort of working on this. I'm like, oh, this is really good. And then I read that and I was like, oh, of course Thornton Wilder already said all this. Dog is behavior. It's not, don't state themes of your play. And the plays don't, plays don't, they're not, they're not informational. They're not, you know, plays don't make claims. They show people, they show people in behavior as Thornton Wilder says they take place in the eternal now. You know, I think that what theater does that's different from other forms is that they operate, they're made out of, they're operating principle is about the thing that is the most eternal thing, the most universally true thing, which is that all of us, no matter who we are, no matter how fortunate, how wealthy, how clever, how well placed, there's not one of us who is not innocent of the coming moment. Nobody knows what's going to happen next. What plays do is they create situations in which we see that in effect. That nobody on, in a play knows what's going to happen next. Other than storytelling that looks back, plays show us people moving forward. It's very difficult to make plays because it's really scary to do it and there are all kinds of ways that we want to, you know, that we want to sneak in a little hint of what's to come because we're all narrativizing forward all the time. It's the only way we can sort of make ourselves feel okay about the fact that nobody knows what's going to happen next, but the excitement of a play when it really works. It's, you know, at a death, after a tragedy, at a sporting event, on a roller coaster, you know that actually everything for everybody can change in a second. And so there's that. I think that's very central. And in plays that can happen both in terms of the characters and the plot. It also happens formally. And I think there's this other thing about plays which is they are made out of transformation and they are made in the collective mind. The book, the creative act is done. You know, there's intersections, certainly in the reading of a book, of a movie, of a painting, whatever. But theater, we're just practicing so that this thing can happen in front of an audience. There is no theater without an audience. None. And Thornton Wilder talks about this thing, the collective mind. And it's this collective imagination that happens, which is quite extraordinary. And it's also about this, you know, there's no one authoritative voice in a play. There's what my partner Madeline George brilliantly calls the democracy of consciousness across the stage. So every single character in a play, ideally, has, and I think this is the beauty of theater. This is the way theater is fundamentally an exercise of ethics. It's the art form that is made out of ethics. It's about how each, all of us, every one of us can only see the world through our own consciousness. And in plays, we identify with that person's consciousness, that person's consciousness, that person's consciousness. And in this collective imaginative space that we occupy while we're watching a play, it's like a trick to bridge that unbridgeable divide, that just unsolvable human conundrum. I think that's what theater is. Lisa, we're going to have to wrap up, and I just have to say that part of what is so moving to me and impressive about, not only listening to you talk now, but about your achievement, is that you're sort of living proof that thinking very precisely and deeply about your art form is conducive to the deep emotional truths that you find that are not opposed to each other. It's wonderful to hear you just think about the process of working. So thank you, and thank all of you. First to leave now. Thanks, Lisa and Oscar. That was really fantastic. We're about to take a coffee break where Lisa will be singing. She'll be signing copies. Maybe she'll sing, I don't know. Signing copies of her plays at the TCG bookstore. Then we head into our skills building sessions, and just a reminder to please stay with your session for both parts. Please also check out our great lunch salon programming both today and tomorrow. And before we go, I want to share one more game-changing conference moment. It's 2003, we're in Milwaukee, and Oscar is actually interviewing a different playwright and TCG author, Tony Kushner. It's the Q&A session, and a gentleman stands up from the audience and says to them both, you talk about change, and I just want to say that both of you have changed my life. It was the most glorious thing to see you in the wedding pages. You see, Tony Kushner had just married Mark Harris, even if New York State didn't recognize it for another eight years. And Oscar was the master of ceremonies at the wedding. And after the whole conference, applauded the wedding, Tony corrected Oscar's pronunciation of the word, that was actually my first TCG conference. And it was really another game-changing moment that I will always hold with me. And at any rate, thanks to everybody for another great session, and we'll see you back here at 3.45. Thanks.