Jennifer Aniston's Rumored Boyfriend Jim Curtis Reflects on ‘Joy and Love' After Mallorca Getaway
'I am back from vacation and what an experience!' he wrote in the Monday, July 14, installment of his newsletter, per Page Six. 'When I was sick, sad, stuck and in pain, I never thought I would have the abundance, joy and love I now experience on a daily basis.'
'I just took one step, made one decision and the next followed — now I look back and realize, oh!' he continued. 'That course, that life change, that pain, resulted in this magic.'
'The possibility of something better — more aligned, more free, more meaningful — is always here,' he added.
As Star previously reported, the life coach and the Friends alum, 56, fueled rumors of a romance after they were spotted vacationing in Mallorca with Jason Bateman and his wife, Amanda Anka, over the 4th of July weekend. Photos shared by People revealed the pair seemingly hugging and engaging in subtle PDA in the popular travel destination.
'This was a huge step for Jen, inviting him along,' an insider dished to Star. 'She wanted Jim to meet her best friends.'
That wasn't their first outing together. In June, they were spotted dining together in Big Sur in Northern California. Aniston also follows him on social media, and both the actress and the hypnotist have interacted with each other's posts on Instagram in recent months.
On Sunday, July 13, a source confirmed to People that the pair have been 'casually dating' for a 'few months' after being introduced to each other by a mutual pal.
'Jen had read his book and was familiar with his work. She's really into self-help and wellness,' the source revealed. 'She's been happy on her own, but she's also open to sharing her life with someone. As long as it feels right.'
Aniston was previously married to Brad Pitt, 61, from 2000 to 2005, and Justin Theroux, 53, from 2015 to 2018. While she's dated sporadically over the past seven years and expressed interest in finding another partner some day, she hasn't been publicly confirmed to be in a serious relationship since her second divorce.
Now, according to the source, the Just Go With It actress is in a 'good place' and feeling 'grounded, fulfilled and very happy.'
'He's very different from anyone she's dated before,' the source notes.
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New York Times
33 minutes ago
- New York Times
Following Euros travel tips from Switzerland and Arsenal midfielder Lia Walti
No one has been a better ambassador for the European Championship in Switzerland than Lia Walti. A key part of Arsenal's midfield for nearly a decade, Walti is even more crucial to the Swiss national team. She captains the side and is one of the only women to have started every game in a major tournament for Switzerland. She made her debut at 18 years old and helped the country to its first World Cup (2015) and Euros (2017) appearances. Advertisement However, last year, the 32-year-old took on a new role as an unofficial travel agent. Before the Euros started, Walti created an Instagram account, called @lias_switzerland, in which she went through the highlights of her country, including a breakdown of all eight host cities. Eventually, her Arsenal and Swiss team-mates got involved. This summer, Switzerland made it out of the group stage before ultimately falling to Spain in the quarter-finals. Before Germany's performance in the semi-final, Switzerland had the best defensive performance against the World Cup winners, holding them scoreless until the 66th minute. Despite the exit, Switzerland will have plenty of positives to take away, from record crowds to the inevitable hosting bump that England and the Netherlands saw in 2022 and 2017 respectively. A post shared by Lia Wälti (@liawaelti) In the run-up to Sunday's final between England and Spain, The Athletic made it to all eight host cities, each with its own unique view. However, for the sake of brevity and leaving a reason to come back, we have narrowed our list to four cities to highlight. Forgive us, Walti, for leaving off the following. Sion and Thun were charming excursions during the group stage. Geneva was bustling with life, chocolate and water spouts, but much of that experience was watching England and Italy go down to the wire in the semi-finals. Basel, a city known for its art and the thrilling quarter-final between France and Germany (made all the more exciting due to its proximity to both countries), will host the final. Walti suggests a swim in the Rhine, though the weather might not be so kind. Still, the cobblestone streets and stadium built to capture all the noise will be a fitting send-off. Alongside our football coverage, our writers found a way to turn climbing mountains, visiting fairytale-like towns and swimming in pristine rivers into football coverage. As Euro 2025 comes to an end, here are four cities that left a lasting impression on our writers. Matches: Wales vs Netherlands, Poland vs Sweden, Poland vs Denmark Like a robust Walti challenge in the first five minutes of a game, Lucerne's beauty lets you know it's there from the off. Lake Lucerne is waiting immediately as you exit the railway station, a sprawling body of shimmering turquoise. Like so much of the water in Switzerland, it's outrageously clear, blue and inviting, and you do wonder what the Swiss must think if they rock up to a UK beach, the harsh, grey English Channel glaring back at them. Advertisement As per Walti's instructions, I take a stroll along the promenade. Nestled snugly on the edge of the lake is a fleet of pedalos. Walti has, after all, suggested a river cruise, and this would be a cruise, of sorts. I skim The Athletic's expenses policy, but a section regarding the hire of pedalos and other recreational human-powered watercraft is notably absent. Making a mental note to raise this with HR, I take the journey on foot instead. Most cities would be content with just a lake, but Lucerne goes above and beyond. The lake is set against the backdrop of the Rigi and Pilatus mountains, and is surrounded by buildings with turrets and spires, shuttered windows and red wooden beams — the sort of places I'd assumed only existed on Christmas cards. Lucerne's like your one mate who somehow always looks effortlessly good in photos, whatever the angle. Next on the agenda is the Museggmauer, and I walk there via the Kapellbrucke, which Walti has reliably informed us is 'the world's oldest surviving wooden bridge'. Dating back to the 14th century, the bridge arches are decorated with paintings depicting scenes from Swiss history — many of which have been restored following a fire in 1993. The lake is on one side, the Reuss river on the other. It's prime photo opportunity territory and it is bustling with visitors. The Museggmauer is Lucerne's medieval city wall and consists of 'nine towers you can actually climb'. With my legs feeling fresh following a lack of pedalo action, bring on the nine towers. A sign outside the first tower — Mannliturm — explains that you can only climb three of the towers right to the top, before adding ominously: 'Visit at your own risk.' Undeterred, I attack the first staircase with purpose, but the spring in my step has waned as the staircases just keep coming. One fellow tower enthusiast pauses on the descent to stretch her quadriceps muscle. A young child, no older than three or four, exclaims 'phew' after scaling one particularly steep, narrow set of stairs, shaking his head and wiping his brow with all the world-weariness of a man 50 years his senior. Advertisement It's 125 stairs to the top, but when you reach the summit, your shortness of breath and that twinge in your thigh are instantly forgotten. It's an amazing view. I thought Lucerne was stunning on the ground, but from up here, it's quite frankly showing off. I meander back along the city walls and around the lake — taking one last, lingering look at the pedalos — before heading for the train home. Ali Rampling Matches: Germany vs Poland, France vs Wales, England vs Wales I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest Walti did not make her hiking recommendations for St. Gallen with the idea of it being barely 10C (50F) and raining. But here I am, at the top of a mountain, waving at some non-plussed cows and wondering how to warm up my toes as they cold-plunge in my boots. 'Chill in Drei Weieren (the scenic ponds above the city) or take in a panoramic view with a hike up to Freudenberg.' These were Walti's challenges I accepted on a Tuesday morning ahead of the Group D match between France and Wales, armed with a peanut butter Cliff bar and then-dry socks. I'm lactose intolerant and (an attempted) vegan, meaning Walti's recommendations for bratwurst were a no. While I can't speak for a sunny day, a grey and rainy one still does this hike to the top more than enough justice. I meander out of the old town's cobblestones and climb flights of wooden stairs, whose tops disappear into thick fog. The effect is Led Zeppelin (Gen Z, Google this). Upon reaching the top, there is St. Gallen below, a compact Christmas town to pack up and build under the tree in December. At the top, there is a pond with lily pads, the rain parachuting down atop their pink flowers. Beside it, a makeshift pool with diving boards, designated lanes, and bleachers for a swim competition. At this point, I'm pretty rain-drenched, so I figure chilling in that water is overkill. But my iPhone weather app (rookie error) tells me the rain is clearing up, so I decide to move into the forest and scale the seeder paths to the top to see the fuss about Freudenberg. The miles-high pine trees offer some reprieve from the drumming rain. I should mention at this point, I'm clearly the only human dumb enough to make this journey in these conditions. Advertisement Companions consist of one scampering squirrel and a few flitting birds the size of my fist. As the rain continues and fog begins to roll through the branches, the woods feel enchantingly brooding. I have a theory that green looks better against grey, its effervescence more stated. In St. Gallen, I feel I have enough evidence to christen my theory factual. Eventually, my climb leaves me staring at the treetops I once craned my neck upwards to consider. The rain is belting it, little rivers sluicing through my trails. I wish I had more photographic evidence, but I opted against waterboarding my only form of communication in case of emergency. To make a long story short, there are non-plussed cows at the top of St. Gallen, and the view is enrapturing, even in the cascading rain. As far as the Abbey library, another of Walti's recommendations while in St. Gallen, goes: stunning and, more importantly, dry. 10/10. The Abbey is not really a library but a literary oasis. Apparently, it's won 1,000 library awards. If you want to pretend you've traded yourself into the town's local monster to secure your dad's safety and then sing to some talking humans-turned-pieces-of-furniture, this is arguably as close as you're going to get. Everything is gilded. There is a globe the size of my bathroom back home. It is prettier than everything I have ever and will ever own. The rest of St. Gallen is charming. Quaint and intimate streets melt into each other before rising high into old, quintessentially Swiss buildings. To walk through the old town is to walk through not just history, but peace. It is difficult to imagine feeling stressed about a water bill here. Megan Feringa Matches: France vs England, England vs Netherlands, Sweden vs Germany, Sweden vs England, Germany vs Spain 'What you can do today, do tomorrow. Go for a swim, have a drink,' read a sign in the industrial quarter, to the north-west of Zurich's city centre. Mission accepted. I jump into the deep, greeny-blue water of the Limmat river. Its temperature is not the freezing kind that takes your breath away, but a cool tonic to the blazing heat. Watch out for rogue bits of foliage, and after rainfall, the current is strong, making swimming upstream a real workout. When you go with the flow, however, you feel like superwoman propelled by the river's force. Advertisement Indeed, some Swiss residents use the current to commute to work. Using a waterproof bag as a pillow, they float down on their backs, passing by other locals who are reading, sunbathing, doing yoga or playing volleyball on the adjacent river banks. It's a very outdoorsy, chilled vibe. Lifeguards are on hand and the river is closed to swimmers when the current is deemed too dangerous. I can't quite erase the image of taking a breath to the side as I front crawl, putting my head down and seeing a floating whitish grey blob with a long tail inches away from me. Walti failed to mention the prospect of encountering a dead rat in the river, but I suppose that's the beauty of swimming in the wild. I was in Zurich for much of the tournament because it was closest to England's base, and that encounter with the rat did not deter me from returning every day. Overall, a top recommendation and a tournament game-changer. Replenish your energy stores in one of the bars and cafes lining the river. Keep walking and you pass through Altstadt (Zurich's old town). The bells of the majestic churches Fraumunster (Women's Minster) and Grossmunster (Great Minster), located on either side of the river, ring out while small motor boats covered with beige and blue jackets bob up and down on the water. There's a charming miniature bronze model of the old town, which gives you a sense of the city's scale. Walk up the wide, cobbled streets to Linderhof gardens, where locals play on gigantic chess boards and the view below captures the old town and river leading to Lake Zurich, another haven for swimmers. Charlotte Harpur Matches: Spain vs Portugal, Switzerland vs Iceland, Italy vs Spain, Spain vs Switzerland I owe Bern an apology. For some reason (not worth me beginning to justify now I've realised I'm wrong), I always imagined Bern to be a boring, businesslike capital city, a la Brussels, and thought the main Swiss attractions were to be found elsewhere in the country. But no! Bern is one of the most striking, elegant capital cities imaginable. Especially in the sunshine and with Italy and Spain fans bringing extra colour ahead of their Group B finale, all blues and reds, to the city centre. Advertisement On a day like this, you simply don't want to be inside. So forgive me for ignoring Walti's tip of Einstein Haus and the Einstein Museum, which I'm sure are wonderful, but I walk past. I'm largely committing to Walti's first tip: 'Strolling through the arcaded Old Town — 6km of covered walkways and medieval charm.' This is my natural approach to a new city, just wandering around, and I've clocked up 8.4km by the time I head towards the stadium so I'm confident I've completed a good proportion of those 6km. The old town is magnificent, full of grand buildings, elegant shops, and restaurants that feel calmer than their equivalents in, say, Florence or Munich. There's minimal traffic. It is almost encircled by a meander of the Aare river, making it feel like an island city. The river, like many in Switzerland, is impossibly blue because of the glacial flour in the water coming down from the Alps. Having swam in the river back in Zurich on several days so far, I don't feel much desire to 'swim in the Aare river — or float with the current like a local', although I deeply admire the locals' faith in the waterproof bags that they throw their wallet, phone and sunglasses into, before sweeping around the bends, swimming more to stay afloat than to actually propel themselves. Strolling up the Kramgasse, one of the main streets in the old town, I reach another of Walti's recommendations almost accidentally. 'Visit the famous Zytglogge (clock tower) and watch the figures dance on the hour.' I arrived at 2:53pm. This was quite promising; cometh the hour, cometh the men. I'm sorry to say that it was somewhat underwhelming and 200 or so fellow tourists assembled to take videos, then looked around at each other, wondering if that was it. But, peeling back towards the river, I come across a scene that sums up this tournament: an Italy supporter and a Spain supporter, sitting on some stone steps in the shade, having a beer together, and just admiring the view. Michael Cox
Yahoo
an hour ago
- Yahoo
Riverdance star Michael Flatley to make bid for Irish presidency, court hears
Riverdance star Michael Flatley is hoping to become Ireland's next president, a court has heard. The revelation came out in a legal case over work done on his mansion in County Cork, the Castlehyde. Barrister Ronnie Hudson said there had been a "material change in circumstances" for Flatley and he's set to move back to Ireland in the next two weeks in the hope of running in autumn's election. A legal statement signed by the star's solicitor, Maxwell Mooney, was also submitted to the High Court stating Flatley would "seek nominations to run for president of Ireland". Flatley rose to fame when Riverdance, which features traditional Irish music and dance, became a phenomenon in the 1990s and went on to tour the world. It continues to be performed today. The choreographer and dancer also created and starred in Lord Of The Dance. The 67-year-old - who currently lives in Monaco - strongly hinted at a presidential bid last week, but said he hadn't made a final decision. He told a radio interview he didn't think the Irish people had a "true proper deep voice that speaks their language". Flatley said the "average person on the street" is unhappy with the status quo and "somebody has to speak for the Irish people". Read more from Sky News: The role of president in is largely ceremonial and is currently held by Michael D Higgins, whose term ends on 11 November. The election is expected to take place at the end of October. A candidate needs nominations from at least 20 members of the Irish parliament or at least four local authorities. Those who've already met the criteria are former farming journalist and EU commissioner Mairead McGuinness, and former Galway mayor Catherine Connolly. Former MMA fighter Conor McGregor is among others who have also - although the prospect was universally rejected by other politicians in Ireland.
CNN
an hour ago
- CNN
Why Americans are obsessed with ice, but Europeans are just lukewarm
It's a sticky, boiling hot day in Paris, London, Rome, Athens or any other heatwave-stricken European destination. You flop down in a cafe after a morning spent on your feet. You order a refreshing cold drink. The beverage arrives and it's lukewarm. No ice cubes to be seen. You flag down the server and ask for the same again, this time with ice. It arrives with a solitary, sad-looking ice cube that melts before the first sip. 'So, I started saying, 'Oh, can I get extra ice?' And then they give just two ice cubes…' recalls New Yorker Isabel Tan, who has first-hand experience of Europe's froideur when it comes to adding frozen H20 to liquid refreshment. 'Eventually, I was like, 'Okay, let me just see what they'll do if I just ask for a bucket of ice…' So I asked that, half as a joke. But they brought out a small bucket of ice. I was in Italy, and it was really, really hot… So it kind of worked out.' Just as there are — at least broadly speaking — cultural differences in how some US folks and Europeans handle the tap water versus mineral water question, there's also a divide when it comes to the iciness of beverages. After Tan successfully ordered the ice bucket in Italy she jokingly posted about her experience on TikTok. Her video is part of a slew of memes, TikToks and Instagram Reels that have popped up in recent summers as Americans decamp to Europe and come face to face with resolutely room-temperature drinks. That social media trend is capturing, as historian Jonathan Rees puts it, a genuine, 'historically determined' cultural difference. 'The entire world does not have as much interest in ice as the United States does,' says Rees, the author of 'Refrigeration Nation: A History of Ice, Appliances, and Enterprise in America.' 'We are very much accustomed to having ice in just about everything. It's very much an American thing.' Another author, Amy Brady, whose book 'Ice: From Mixed Drinks to Skating Rinks – A Cool History of a Hot Commodity' contemplates the environmental consequences of populating so many aspects of life with frozen chunks of water, agrees. 'Americans are unique on the world stage in terms of our absolute obsession with ice,' she says. 'Americans are unique on the world stage in terms of our absolute obsession with ice.' Amy Brady, author of "Ice: From Mixed Drinks to Skating Rinks – A Cool History of a Hot Commodity' That rings true for Tan, who is originally from Singapore and grew up around different attitudes toward refrigeration. 'It's a cultural thing in the Asian culture to believe that drinking warm drinks is actually better for you,' she says. Years in New York converted Tan to the icy way of life. 'Even in my Stanley Cup right now, there are ice cubes,' she says, gesturing to the giant water bottle in her hand. 'I definitely prefer ice drinks. Even in the winter, I will drink an iced coffee… ice drinks year round.' UK-based Claire Dinhut has a different perspective: 'I personally really don't like ice, nor do I even like the taste of water,' she tells CNN Travel. Dinhut is half American, half French, but despite spending time in Los Angeles as a kid, she never got on board with the American love of ice. She's lived in Athens, Prague and now the UK, and is grateful that living in Europe means she avoids mounds of ice in drinks. Her preference? 'A good sorbet.' 'I find that ice dilutes the overall flavor of the beverage, falls on your face and spills your drink when you try to drink it, and is a good way for people to hide the actual amount of drink in a cup,' says Dinhut. The European verus US ice divide might have gained attention online in recent years, but it's not a new thing. Brady points to historic examples of 'people from around the world coming to America and being shocked.' 'I uncovered essays and letters from Charles Dickens, the famous 19th century English author, who came to America and was shocked and frankly disgusted by what he called the mounds of ice overflowing from American drinks,' recalls Brady. 'We were a spectacle to others because of our obsession with ice.' Rees says the American problem of sourcing ice on their travels goes back more than 100 years. 'People in the late 19th century, once they were hooked on ice, would ask Europeans for ice and be baffled when they couldn't get it.' So, just how did Americans become so ice-obsessed? Rees says the American love of ice can be traced back to Frederick Tudor, a businessman and entrepreneur in 19th century Boston who made such a fortune selling frozen water that he became known as the 'Ice King.' 'He, with a lot of help, came up with a way to cut ice off ponds and streams, packed it into ships and sent it all over the planet,' says Rees. 'He sent ice to India. He sent ice to the Caribbean. He sent ice to the American South. That is the beginning of the ice industry.' And even with all these ice exports, there was leftover ice lying around. 'Nobody knew what to do with it,' says Rees. 'So, Tudor began to give ice away to American taverns… They would put it in their drinks, and then people would sort of get hooked on having their drinks cold, and then they would come back and buy it from him later. And it worked fabulously well. He created a market. He became very rich.' Tudor was by no means 'the first person in the world to put ice in a cocktail,' Brady says – no one really knows who was – but people living in hot climates have always looked for ways to cool down. 'His innovation was to bring ice to people living in climates where ice didn't form naturally.' As the 19th century rolled into the 20th, ice was cemented as a status symbol in the US. 'Marketing campaigns talked about ice like they would talk about an automobile or a TV set,' says Brady. 'To own an icebox would be the way to signal to your neighbors that you have arrived, you know, as a middle-class American, who has kind of, quote, unquote, made it financially.' In Europe, ice never gained the same popularity — not in the 19th century and not today. Whereas Americans look upon ice with glee, generally speaking Europeans view ice as unnecessary, and even a little gross. 'I'll order iced drinks during the summer out of necessity,' says Dinhut. 'But I will chug the drink as to not actually let it get watered down and change the flavor.' Ice expert Rees explains that it's true that, 'when you put ice in your drink, it automatically dilutes it.' He says that when it comes to Americans and ice, 'it's as much about what Americans are used to as it is about taste. It's a little crazy. But Americans have loved ice for so long that we're willing to make that sacrifice. We're willing to pay extra in order to have our drinks diluted in particular ways.' As a quintessential US lover of ice, Rees waxes lyrical about 'the little crackling noise when you place it in there, the tinkle when the ice hits the side of the glass.' 'That makes me very happy for some reason,' he says. When Brit Lacey Buffery moved to the US five years ago she noticed the amount of ice 'right away.' At first, she found the icy pint glasses of tap water served in restaurants 'too cold.' But in time, she adapted. 'I've gotten used to and now really like a very cold drink,' she says. Her British partner, meanwhile, has remained steadfast in his anti-ice perspective. He'll specifically request no ice. 'That confuses servers as I don't think they see that regularly,' says Buffery. As she acclimated to life in the California, Buffery was also taken with US refrigerators — which are often twice the size of typical UK fridges — 'Americans have the largest refrigerators in the world,' confirms the ice historian Rees — and often come with an inbuilt ice dispenser. 'I have never had a fridge in the UK with an ice dispenser,' says Buffery. 'We would make squash in a jug as a kid and store it in the fridge for the summer. And we would obviously have an ice tray in the freezer, but you couldn't have much ice as it wasn't easily available.' On social media, Buffery points out free soda refills are commonplace in the US but rare in Europe, suggesting this also plays a part in the ice debate — 'We pay per drink in the UK, and who wants to keep paying for a ton of ice with a little soda?' Still, it intrigues Buffery to reflect on how much her habits have changed over her half decade in the US. She and her husband intend to move back to the UK soon, and when they do, Buffery says she will be hunting down a US-style fridge as soon as possible. Buffery's experiences suggest a lot of the ice-versus-no-ice debate is about what you're used to. While historically, northern European countries were cooler in summer than certain US states, the climate crisis has led to increased summer temperatures in cities like London and Paris. But ice can still be elusive. 'My understanding is to a certain extent it's easier to get ice than it used to be all over Europe, but it is still the exception rather than the rule,' says Rees. In many European destinations, there's no guarantee the establishment where you're dining or drinking will have ice. There isn't, as some TikToks have suggested, an ice shortage in Europe. It's just not the cultural norm. And whereas US hotels typically have ice machines in the corridor, and grocery stores sell giant bags of ice, this isn't generally commonplace outside of North America. 'One of the first things on a list that a host might send a party guest is 'who's bringing the ice?'' says ice historian Brady. 'That's very much an American thing.' Canadian Zoe McCormack — 'not American, but very much the same ice culture,' she says — lives in Paris. She tells CNN Travel she often struggles to track down ice in restaurants in the French city. She says she's less bothered by the iceless drinks in the winter months, but she still hates the lukewarm water, served in tiny 'shot glasses.' 'I don't really drink hot coffee, hot tea and stuff like that. So when they bring lukewarm water, I just find the taste weird,' she says. McCormack also suggests the lack of air conditioning in Europe plays a role — and the generally warmer fridges. When she buys a can of iced tea or soda that's been stored in a European grocery store chiller, 'the drink is not that cold.' When McCormack can, she reaches to the back of the shelf, searching, often in vain, for the coldest can she can find. 'The grocery store is not air conditioned, it's crazy, and you're reaching into the back to try and grab the drinks in the back, because those have probably been there the longest and are the coldest, and sometimes even those aren't that cold. And I'm like, 'Oh my gosh, I just need something refreshing.' But it's so hard to find.' If you're an American heading to Europe this summer getting anxious about ice — and possibly a lack of air conditioning and tap water too — rest assured that there are other ways of staying cool in the heat: gelato, sorbet and granita, to name a few. A jug of tinto de verano in Seville will be full of ice, while a glass of rose in Provence will be chilled to perfection. Plus, Europe isn't a monoculture. Every destination will be different. 'I gotta admit, I really like ice, but I understand when I'm traveling that I'm not going to be able to get it in every single place, and sometimes I'm not going to be able to get it at all,' says the historian Rees. He adds: 'But that's all right. I leave the United States specifically so that I can try other people's cuisines, which includes their drinks and they may not have ice in them.' Brady echoes this, suggesting viewing an iceless European beverage as simply a cultural difference, rather than a frustration, and taking it as opportunity for 'self-reflection.' 'Try to resist what might be an immediate reaction, which is, 'Oh, this tepid water, this tepid tea is less good or less clean, or less tasty, less delightful,'' she advises. 'That is a very American, specific perspective. And, putting that aside, also just experiencing how other people around the world develop their own culinary tastes and preferences will make life much more interesting… And it'll just keep you from being a jerk.'
