So I woke up a bit better off than I went to bed. After our early morning croissants we headed out to find a pharmacy for Immodium or Pepto. I think France is full of hypocondriacs because pharmacies are everywhere. Actually a pharmacy there is more like a drug store is here where you can get your contact solution, tyllanol and perscription drugs in one place. We search the first pharmacy and find an empty shelf where the immodium should have been and a sign that says diarrhea which lets me know what to look for in the future. The next three pharmacies were closed and the fourth a hole in the wall had it behind the counter. The Pharmacy tech was able to speak a few words of English and tell me not to take more than 6 and with that we were off.

Today I'm sick, no it wasn't the hamburger. We did't really venture out much as I resemble an inverted Old Faithful from Yellowstone park. I got croissants for breakfast, took pictures of the Opera house and checked my email.

Before the Hotel office closed I was able to call our Concierge in Paris to see if it would be good if we came a day late. We really hadn't gotten to see Lyon at all because I wasn't feeling good and we were out of money.

Amy my bank manager got the money thing straightened away, raised my limit and my cards work now. I paid for another night. We need to get a hold of our Concierge in Paris to let him know when we're coming. I emailed the apartment owner in the states knowing he won't get the email until late. We decided to be kind to my stomach and eat at the Chinese restaurant on the corner where we proceeded to order way too much food. The dim sum was ok (not great) and the fried food appetizer was decent. After we walked forever looking for a grocery that had bottled water and after getting directions from a local settled on the togo window of McDonalds which had Evian. Armed with Evian we returned to the Hotel Iris and went to bed.

So we've arrived in Paris at CDG and went through immigration without anyone stamping our passports. That's a little strange and we've never had that happen before. I can only assume that they thought we had chipped passports and the computer logged us. The very first thing we do when entering a foreign country (actually there are only foreign people...) is get local currency so our search for an ATM begins. The one on the arrivals level was broken so after walking the entire length of the terminal and not finding another we ask information which informs us theres one on the departures level two floors down. We walk the entire length of the departures level without finding one so we ask the United Airlines lady and she gives us directions. Ten minutes later we're equiped with 300 Euros which should get us into the city where we can buy our train ticket to Lyon.

We want to go to Lyon because we've discovered (like Colobus discovered America) the Institute of Paul Bocuse and Natalya is interested in going to school there instead of or in addition to Corden Bleu in Paris. Lyon is the culinary capital of France so most great chefs come out of there. Our plan is to visit the institute and get information on it and possibly eat in one of Paul Bocuse' restaurants of which he has 5.

We head to the SNCF booth to get RER tickets into the city. The RER trains are the suburban rail trains that service the burbs as we'd call them. The trip into the city will take about 30 minutes. We're approached by a man wanting to sell us shuttle tickets for $22 ea for a total of $88. Yeah right buddy. Our RER tickets cost us $50 which was still way more than I expected. I was thinking they'd be about $30 but it's the airport right so they're way overpriced. We've actually been to this RER station before two years ago when we went to Parc Asterix so we knew our way around a bit.

Half hour later we're at Chatalet station to catch the number 1 metro. The Chatalex/Les Halles station is my least favorite because it's a maze of passages and levels and you never know just where you are. We've had to pay to get into the station before and then walked so far we had to pay again to get further into the station. It never made sense to me. Sometimes I've wondered whether it would be easier to walk to the next station to catch the metro instead of venturing into the labyrinth. So we walked and walked and walked and never saw a ticket booth. I asked and someone told me go straight and then turn left. I walked and only saw turnstyles. I go back to where I'd left the kids and ask someone there and he says to go straight and turn left. Once again I only saw turnstyles. I realized we have to exit the RER section and enter the Metro section, as soon as we got this little tidbit we ran into a metro ticket booth where we bought one adulte carne and one enfant carne. We proceed to the metro where we never go through a turnstyle and never pay. Like I said this station doesn't make sense.

This is your story, I am only the writer putting it to words just as Homer was to the Illiad. Imagine it as if you were there and you will be.

You know Paris, the city where lovers stroll and unknown couples edge along Pont Neuf to get a better view of the passing barges only to look up and find each other's eyes. Paris is the city where there's a violinist on every corner and all flowers are shades of red. It's a city of beautiful women who dress like fashion models and are accompanied by white poodles with pink bows in their ears while the men wear berets, ride bicycles and nearly always have a baguette tucked beneath their arm. Postcard perfect little girls in frilly flowered dresses peek out from under their mothers skirts with gorgeous brown eyes and long curly locks. You've seen this Paris on greeting cards, in commercials and of course movies. Writers wax poetic and fashion designers yearn to live there. This Paris is real, I knew it and couldn't wait to arrive.

After stashing my things in the Hotel de la Place du Louvre I ventured out onto Rue de Rivoli only to find automobiles buzzing everywhere - lots of them. Strange looking Citroen's, Peugeot and Renaults careening with reckless abandon with horns honking and tires screeching. Every potential open space was filled with delivery vans, tiny runabouts, scooters and more. Not what I had expected Paris to be and definitely not what I had dreamt of but nonetheless I ignored the sounds and smells and ventured on in search of the Paris I knew to exist. I seemingly walked forever in an attempt to get a glimpse of a man in a beret or a woman in red stilettos. I would have even settled for the little girl with the deep brown eyes in the flowery dress. I went down avenues, up stairs, around churches and through parks in search of this magical city I'd heard so much about. My vision of  the dreamy Parisian city was slowly chipped away by the reality of a buzzing metropolis filled with millions of busy people just getting by. I expected to see a French waiter dressed in white apron with towel in hand gesturing a smartly dressed couple toward their white linen draped table. The table of course outfitted with a candlestick thin vase holding a solitary red rose. Instead I got Muslim Arabs hawking kebabs in street stalls or selling corn cobs roasted in grocery carts surrounded by beggars and other riff raff. When I looked for picturesque French architecture I got exhaust stained stucco covered concrete block buildings. Who replaced the beautiful fountains of Greek mythological lore with dry glorified urinaries covered in graffiti? The grand boulevards that look so uniform and graceful in pictures were jam packed with cars, motorcycles and buses - strewn with loose trash - it was hard to notice anything else.

As I walked along a dirty side street I started to feel betrayed as if I'd married perfection only to wake up next to a wretched mess. The entire day I spent looking for Paris had taken it's toll, I was positiviely famished. I asked a man on the street for his gastronomic recommendations but he just shrugged and motioned to the burger joint on the corner. Disheartened I marched on but desperation now filled my heart in place of wonderment and anticipation. The midday sun was hot and unforgiving, tormenting me with it's rays. My feet hurt and I wreaked of perspiration. In the distance I saw a hill rising up over Paris holding the most beautiful domed church glistening in the sun and I thought finally I'd found the Paris of postcard fame. Depleted of energy I gave into a kabob seller and devoured it on the way. The classiest parts of a city always seem to be at the crest of a hill and this one no doubt cradled the Paris I knew so I attacked it with renewed vigor. Stairs led to more stairs and I started to glimpse cobblestone streets and gardens. My pulse quickened as did my pace. Readying myself to be overwhelmed I reached a plateau and as I turned the corner my heart hit the pavement smashing into a thousand pieces. There in front of me was a sex shop selling all kinds of vulgar and despicable things used for God knows what. Across the street was an adult video store next to a 7-11. Not giving up I continued to climb only to be harassed by an infestation of mimes and incapable artists offering to cut my side profile from a piece of paper worth only a fraction of what they asked. The mimes gave way to caricaturists and tourist shops selling trinkets and Eiffel tower key chains.

I could take no more. I was devastated, my heart felt like it had been run over by a truck and my spirit crushed. I'd been walking all day, my dogs were barking and my knees hurt. I started the long decent from this mound of despair and disappointment. I felt like someone had pricked me with a thousand needles and let out my life force. I felt lied to and betrayed, I felt used and then I felt angry. For the next 20 minutes while I descended the hill called Montmartre the anger in me boiled. How could so many people get Paris wrong? Where did the writers and painters get the inspiration for the Paris I'd heard so much about? Exhausted I decided to descend into the dreaded subway system and take the first train going anywhere but here. Since I had arrived I had avoided the Metro in an attempt to spend every waking moment in awe wandering the streets of Paris. Now exhausted, I no longer cared. I figured what I saw in the subway was going to be no worse than what was on the street. The train clacked from station to station to a destination I'd never heard of. I had no idea where Chatillion-Montrouge was nor did I care. In my daze of disbelief a disturbing thought penetrated my mind. What if this train is taking me to the housing projects where the recent riots took place? Visions of overturned cars and street fires impregnated my thoughts. The Paris riots were real to me now as I could imagine THAT Paris. In a flash the walls of the subway car seemed to cave in on me and I couldn't breath. The train stopped at a station and I frantically scrambled toward the door shoving my way through the crowd of people and nearly fell to the ground. Gasping for air I clambered up the stairs to the surface. What have I done coming here?

With my head dragging I walked up the broad expanse of concrete paralleling the street in search of a place to rest. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a small table outside a cafe. As I sat down a man wearing a white apron approached me and asked me something in French. I barely glanced up and just responded with un café, s'il vous plait and he vanished into the shop only to return in a few quick moments with the cutest little cup of coffee. I sat there head drooping over my cup contemplating the agony in my feet when I noticed the bistro table I was sitting at rocked a bit. I looked down at the ground only have cobblestones staring back at me. My eyes followed the dainty wrought iron table leg up to the tiny round table surface which was covered in a starch white linen cloth. Another sip of coffee brought warmth to my skin and a sparkle to my eye. As I sat there silently cup in hand my eyes lifted and I started to take in my surroundings. The silence was broken by an orderly column of children dressed in their best school uniforms marching down the opposite side of the lazy boulevard. They came to a stop near two large double doors - wood with dark green paint on the verge of peeling. It appeared to be an automobile entrance to an inner courtyard or was it? Maybe it was a secret garden filled with cherry blossoms and a swing hanging from a tree. With that thought I could feel the corner of my mouth rise just a tad. The school teacher leading the group opened a smaller inset door and each child stepped high over the pronounced door sill like a bunch of ducks waddling onto shore. For a second I glimpsed through the door another world unknown to me until then. I saw a clothes line weighed down by fresh laundry dancing in a beam of sunlight over the cobblestone entryway like a living Picasso. Next to the entryway was a window barely holding in the rhythmic succession of tones identifiable as Edith Piaf singing Le Vie en Rose. The melody eeked and squirmed it's way out the window, through the blowing sheets and narrowly escaped the attention of the children only to land softly on the ears of a total stranger across the street drinking an innocent cup of coffee -Quand il me prend dans ses bras Il me parle tout bas, Je vois la vie en rose. The muscles in my neck, tense a minute ago relaxed and the rest of my body followed. The sounds of kids shuffling their feet across the 2nd story parquet covered floor vanished abruptly when the teacher closed the window. With my attention now drawn to the balcony surrounding the window my eyes followed every swirl of the ironwork railing, Art Nouveau I thought to myself. Above it was another balcony with the same beautiful ironwork and above that another.  My eyes quickly raced from one building to the next only to find more of the same. It appeared all buildings on this boulevard had similar balconies - short one that is. That building, a lonely brown edifice a couple steps into the distance was devoid of any ironwork but in it's stead had a grand stone entrance with two nymphs bearing the cornice on their shoulders. They looked as if it were the heavens they were suspending and maybe it was. My eyes wandered upward to the third story terrace which cradled two large double glass doors. These were made from the type of glass had that dark contrasty look to them that's not present in modern panes which in turn made the heavy crimson drapes hiding behind them all the more vibrant. Why had I not noticed this before I silently asked myself and why had it remained hidden until now?

My attention was abruptly interrupted when a man riding by on an old single speed cruiser style bicycle rang his bell while swerving around an older couple crossing the street. He was dressed in what appeared to be very lightweight gauzy pants and shirt, white in color and looked extremely comfortable in the summer heat. A man definitely couldn't get away with dressing like that in the states. He did not have a baguette under his arm nor did he wear a beret but his basket was filled with his daily produce consisting of a head of lettuce and other miscellaneous vegetables in the company of a carton of milk. The man no doubt on his way home after a long day at work lazily pedaled his bicycle down the street ringing his bell when needed.

Something unexpected began to happen right about then. The school children, the bicyclist, the ironwork balconies, the nymphs, the little unstable bistro table and the waiter in his white apron. I looked into my tiny cup of cafe only to see in the reflection a face barely holding back tears and no sooner could I wipe them a woman walking by, turned and approached me. Excusez-moi. I raised my head to see who was addressing me. Are you OK?, she asked recognizing me as a tourist and thoughtfully using the English phrase. I focused on the voice only to find a woman in her mid thirties wearing a loose fitting dress crafted from a flower printed fabric. I nodded my head and pushed out a timid oui. With a relieved look on her face she replied with "OK, au revoir". Unbeknownst to me her daughter of about 4 was hiding behind her skirt the entire time. As she turned on her red stiletto heels to walk away the little girl looked back at me with the most beautiful deep brown eyes I'd ever seen only partially covered by her curly locks. I about melted as I realized that the Paris I'd been searching so hard for had in fact... found me. The warmth I'd felt earlier returned with renewed vigor as I raised my cup to my lips I saw yet another shape in the reflection. A shape that seemed oddly familiar. I looked up only to see the Cafe's glass windows looking back at me. I once again looked into my cup and as predictable as the sunrise there it was, the strange and yet familiar shape. A shape so elegant and feminine and positively beautiful. Determined, I again peered into the cafe windows to ascertain the origins of the object and realized that the reflection was not actually of an object but rather another reflection. The reflection was in fact a reflection of a reflection on an object that appeared to be directly behind me.

I turned my head slowly like a lover meeting a secret admirer for the first time at the beckoning of an anonymous note. As I my eyes lifted my heart skipped a beat - there she stood, the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, feet spread apart with her lacy skirt stretched tight between her knees. Her left arm was so very elegantly raised toward the sky topped with a dazzling light. She was fabulously gorgeous with her tall slender lines and graceful stance. Ms. Eiffel looked down upon me from her 1000 foot perch and I swear I saw a twinkle in her eye. I imagine others saw it as well but a part of me wants to think it was only for me, even if for a second. Something sprang forth from my heart just then, a combination of things really. It's as if throughout my entire life I'd placed certain special emotions in a safe place to be brought out all together for that one moment that defines my very being. It's as if the purpose of every second of my life was only to lead up to this very moment. That instant I took those special emotions out and with the utmost care unwrapped them. Joy, happiness and serenity all substantial in their own right promptly melded into something greater - love, yes LOVE. I felt as I'd been separated from my one true love and now after a lifetime of searching, rejoined. With that feeling everything else started to make sense, the anguish, fear, uncertainty, happiness and sadness. The tumblers in happiness's locked door rotated and solidly clicked into place. Life started to make sense and the things I'd forever hated gained favor. Without night there would be no day, winter no summer? Without jealousy would love have it's place? Without fear would we yearn for safety? Would we be thankful if we had no pain?

The waiter returned with another cup of coffee and smiled warmly at my tear dotted notebook that I'd been clutching then quickly disappeared back into the darkened doorway. He knew as did the rest of them. What a way to spend your time, watching people repeatedly fall in love. With that I got out my pen and I started to write. I wrote about the man selling kebabs and the sex shops. I wrote about my aching feet and my disappointment. But most of all I wrote about what happened to me. I wrote about Love - Paris Je'taime - Paris I love.

And the cycle continues...

So as of Saturday we had our apartment and I'd scored plane tickets on Friday. The only date we could fly for a reasonable price was Sunday morning returning on Sept 2nd. If I wanted to fly on any other day it was going to cost me $2400 more for the 4 of us. That gave us one day to get ready, pack and to get as much work done as possible. I went to work while the kids packed the bags and made a list of things we needed. Things didn't go as well as planned at work and I left at 3:30 am and headed straight to Wallyworld to pick up what we needed for the trip. I left Walmart at 4:45, got home at 5 and woke everyone up. I finished packing at 6:00 and our friend Mo showed up to drive us to the airport.

We meandered toward Sea-tac airport at a comfortable pace but I wasn't worried as according to my calculations we would have 1hr 45min to get through security, get something to eat and board the plane. They recommend 2 hrs for international flights but we've squeezed this plenty of times before. On arrival to the airport we realized we didn't grab our daybag. Normally this wouldn't be a problem but this time in order to speed up our passage through security I put our boarding passes and passports in the daybag.

As most of you know we are supposed to be in China/Southeast Asia right now. Actually we were supposed to be sitting at home now recovering from our Asian adventures. As a side effect of personal and technical problems associtated with my current work contract we were not able to leave on June 19th. By July 1st we were still hopeful and by August 1st we'd decided that we'd visit China for one month and return in the Winter for Southeast Asia. By August 10th we had accepted the fact that none of this was happening and we'd be lucky to go to Boring Oregon for vacation let alone somewhere foreign and exotic. I hadn't given up hope though and started studying the Baltic states and looking over VISA requirements for Russia because we could spend two weeks there and see quite a bit. Two weeks in China wouldn't have gotten us anywhere so it was out. My contract dragged and I finally decided to make our life easier and go somewhere we'd been before and what better place than France?

Nikon has decided to release an update to the Coolpix P5100. Like the Panasonic LX-2 the Nikon P5100 had near perfect specs but fell down on such a major feature that I deamed it unbuyable. It was so painfully slow that you'd be religated to only taking static shots. It's took 2 seconds between shots and in continuous mode it could only muster .3 frames per second. That is in comparison to the G7s 2fps. The Panasonic LX-2 on the other hand had perfect specs but the over diligent noise suppression turned photos taken ISO 400 or higher into Degas paintings.

Now Panasonic has released the LX-3 which according to them has much nicer photos and Nikon has released the P6000. Because there aren't currently any reviews for either we have to speculate on whether they improve apon their forbearers.I've included a chart here that compares the two of them to the Canon G7. I use the G7 here because that's what I have and there's very little reason to buy a G9 if you already have the G7. The only improvements were extra resolution that nobody needed, the ability shoot in raw and a larger LCD screen. The larger screen has the same pixels and cramped some of the buttons and with the CHDK firmware you can shoot in raw with the G7. I did not include every comparison item as many are identical between the cameras so I've included the points where the three differ.

Nikon Coolpix P6000	Canon PowerShot G7	Panasonic Lumix DMC-LX3
Image
Max resolution	3648 x 2736	3648 x 2736	3648 x 2736
Low resolution	3648 x 2432, 3584 x 2016, 3264 x 2448, 2592 x 1944, 2048 x 1536, 1600 x 1200, 1280 x 960, 1024 x 768, 640 x 480	2816 x 2112, 2272 x 1704, 1600 x 1200, 640 x 480	3968 x 2232, 3776 x 2520, 3328 x 1872, 3168 x 2112, 3072 x 2304, 2784 x 1568, 2656 x 1768, 2560 x 1920, 2208 x 1248, 2112 x 1408, 2048 x 1536, 2048 x 1360, 1920 x 1080, 1600 x 1200, 640 x 480
Image ratio w:h	4:3, 3:2, 16:9	4:3, 3:2	16:9, 4:3, 3:2
Effective pixels	13.5 million	10.0 million	10.1 million
Sensor photo detectors	13.93 million	10.3 million	11.3 million
Sensor size	1/1.72" (7.40 x 5.55 mm, 0.41 cm²)	1/1.8 " (7.18 x 5.32 mm, 0.38 cm²)	1/1.63 "
Pixel density	33 MP/cm²	26 MP/cm²	24 MP/cm²
ISO rating	Auto (64 - 800), Hi-Auto (64 - 1600), 64, 100, 200, 400, 800, 1600, (3200, 6400 at 3MP)	Auto, 80 ,100, 200, 400, 800, 1600	Auto, Hi Auto (1600-6400), 80, 100, 200, 400, 800, 1600, 3200
Zoom wide (W)	28 mm	35 mm	24 mm
Zoom tele (T)	112 mm (4 x)	210 mm (6 x)	60 mm (2.5 x)
Macro focus range	2 cm	1 cm	1 cm
White balance override	5 positions, manual preset	6 positions & manual preset	5 positions, plus 2 manual
Aperture range	F2.7 - F5.9	F2.8 - F4.8	F2.0 - F2.8
Min shutter	Unknown	15 sec	60 sec
Max shutter	Unknown	1/2500 sec	1/2000 sec
Flash guide no.	8.0 m (26.2 ft)	4.0 m (13.1 ft)	8.3 m (27.2 ft) (Auto ISO)
External flash	Yes, hot shoe	Yes, hot-shoe	Yes
Flash modes	Auto, Fill-in, Red-Eye reduction, Slow, Off	Auto, Fill-in, Red-Eye reduction, Slow Sync, Off	Auto, Red-Eye Auto, On, Red-Eye On, Red-Eye Slow Sync, Off,
Metering	Unknown	Evaluative, Center Weighted, Spot	Multi-segment, Center-weighted, Spot
Continuous Drive	Yes	Yes, 2.0 fps	Yes, 2.5 fps, max 8 images
Movie Clips	Yes, 640 x 480, 15/30 fps, 320 x 240, 15 fps, 160 x 120, 15 fps	Yes, 1024 x 768 @ 15 fps, 640 x 480 @ 30/15 fps, 320 x 240 @ 30/15 fps, 160 x 120 @ 15 fps	Yes, 1280 x 720 @ 24 fps, 848 x 480, 640 x 480, 320 x 240 @ 30fps, 320 x 240 @ 10fps
Self-timer	3 or 10 sec	Yes	2 or 10 sec
Orientation sensor	No	Yes	Yes
Uncompressed format	Yes	No (yes with chdk firmware)	RAW
Quality Levels	High, Normal	Super-Fine Fine, Normal	Fine, Standard
Viewfinder	Yes	Optical	No
LCD	2.7 "	2.5 "	3.0 "
LCD Pixels	230,000	207,000	460,000
Video out		Yes	Yes
Weight (inc. batteries)	280 g (9.9 oz)	380 g (13.4 oz)	265 g (9.3 oz)
Dimensions	107 x 65.2 x 42 mm (4.2 x 2.6 x 1.7 in)	106 x 72 x 43 mm (4.2 x 2.8 x 1.7 in)	109 x 60 x 27 mm (4.3 x 2.4 x 1.1 in)
Notes	Built-in GPS receiver

Downloadable Calender of Puget Sound farmers markets 

Bainbridge Farmers Market

Ballard Sunday Farmers Market

Bellevue Farmers Market

Capitol Hill Farmers Market--Broadway

Scenario: In the Dom0 (Host) you have an LVM Logical Volume that you export to the DomU (Guest) and it appears as a hard drive partition which you want to make larger.

Example- Dom0: /dev/VolGroup00/LogVol00 -> DomU: /dev/xvda1

Resizing an LVM Logical Volume used as a DomU partition

When you use an LVM Logical Volume as a DomU partition it will show up in the DomU as /dev/xvda1 as apposed to /dev/xvda. The line in the DomU config file will look something like this.

disk = ['phy:vgsys/lvvirt,xvda1,w']

Get the Logical Volume name and path

So you gave your Xen virtual machine a 10GB Logical Volume and not it's not enough eh? This is easy to fix.

We start by using the lvdisplay command to get the path to the Logical Volume

[ root@vs /srv/xen ] lvdisplay
--- Logical volume ---
LV Name                /dev/vgsys/lvvirt
VG Name                vgsys
LV UUID                XMWzWW-oZih-A5uH-91Sa-7l1y-8cqf-18KcNB
LV Write Access        read/write
LV Status              available
# open                 1
LV Size                60.00 GB
Current LE             1920
Segments               2
Allocation             inherit
Read ahead sectors     auto
- currently set to     256
Block device           253:2

Scenario: In the Dom0 (Host) you have an LVM Logical Volume that you export to the DomU (Guest) and it appears as an entire hard drive which you want to make larger.

Example- Dom0: /dev/VolGroup00/LogVol00 -> DomU: /dev/xvda

Resizing an LVM Logical Volume used as a DomU drive

A Logical Volume used as a DomU drive will appear in the DomU as /dev/xvda. A Logical Volume used as a DomU partition will appear in the DomU as /dev/xvda1. Please note the difference.

The disk line in the Xen Domain config file stored in /etc/xen on the Dom0 will look something like this.

disk = ['phy:vgsys/lvvirt,xvda,w']

Get the Logical Volume name and path in Dom0

On the Dom0 we need to expand the Logical Volume. We start by using the lvdisplay command to get the path to the Logical Volume

[ root@vs /srv/xen ] lvdisplay
--- Logical volume ---
LV Name                /dev/vgsys/lvvirt
VG Name                vgsys
LV UUID                XMWzWW-oZih-A5uH-91Sa-7l1y-8cqf-18KcNB
LV Write Access        read/write
LV Status              available
# open                 1
LV Size                60.00 GB
Current LE             1920
Segments               2
Allocation             inherit
Read ahead sectors     auto
- currently set to     256
Block device           253:2