An open letter

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thank you so much for your generous donation to the "Get me the hell out of Dodge" fund. It was good to see Teresa and actually spend some quality time with her. All things considered, Teresa's doing well. She was pretty upset, though, about your refusal to attend her wedding and recognize her marriage to Bob. To be honest, I agree with her sentiment, and I have a hard time following your rationale.

You're aware that neither of them is Catholic, right? So, why are you so insistent that Bob follow an authority that neither he nor Teresa recognize? And before you start on what the Vatican says, let me ask you this: Do you consider George and Kenya married? What about Aunt Janet and John?

I can understand that you would prefer Teresa and Bob to do everything by the book, but it's really not up to you. She's a grown woman in her thirties. She can make her own decisions. Furthermore, Bob doesn't want an annulment. Aside from the fact that he's not Catholic, he finds it dishonest to deny that his previous marriage was valid, and for you to insist that he does, without actually knowing him, is insulting and offensive.

So why the refusal? Do you think you'll score some extra salvation points or something? Do you expect to show up at the Pearly Gates, and St. Peter will say, "Well, it looks like everything checks out. Wait, what's this? You recognized your daughter's marriage to a divorcee? To the pits with you!" Are you just too broke to go to Seattle? If that's the case, man up and admit it.

Or is it because it somehow makes Bob a polygamist? That's just silly. As far as the Church cares, he's only married to his ex. As far as the law cares, he's only going to be married to Teresa. Either way you look at it, it's not polygamy. Furthermore, nobody who matters in the relationship (i.e. Teresa, Bob, and Isaac) is Catholic. Why should either of them follow a set of rules that neither of them accept?

George and Kenya aren't Catholic. Is their marriage invalid, too? How do you think that makes them feel?

Have you thought about the long-term consequences? I mean, refusing to attend your own daughter's wedding because of a technicality that doesn't even apply to them is something that will taint your relationship with her forever.

Let me tell you the neatest thing about spending a week in Seattle.

I got to see Teresa in her element. She wasn't visiting from out of town. She wasn't passing through. She was at home with someone she loves. She and Bob really complement each other, and just watching them interact in a genuinely human way just cemented their relationship for me. They don't need a piece of paper to validate that.

Furthermore, Teresa is fantastic with Isaac. She has really embraced her role as his future stepmother.

But recognizing that in her is somehow a sin. Or perhaps an occasion of sin.

So, here’re your consequences for not going to your daughter's wedding (due to your strict adherence to an unrecognized authority):

1. You don't get to share in what's supposed to be the happiest day of her life.
2. You don't get to take on the grandparent role with Isaac.
3. There will always be a rift between you and Teresa.
4. You will, by extension, alienate George and Kenya, as well as me and Tina.
5. You'll serve as an object lesson as to how zealous devotion to a religion can divide families.
6. You'll miss out on the reception and cake. (Incidentally, saying you can't go to the wedding, but you'll be happy to attend the reception? That's just low.)

Ultimately, what it boils down to is this: You're breaking your only daughter's heart out of some misguided sense of self-righteous indignation, and there's no saying how well that wound will heal.

- Never Lost a Game

Whatever Happened to Baby Jesus?

Remember Christmas?

I'm not talking about the little get-together you had with your family last year. I mean the fruition of a month's waiting, the giddiness of waking up on that rare morning that comes along only one time every decade-long year, and the unbearable joy of seeing that lit up tree with a veritable mountain or wrapped packages underneath.

The day has finally come. You tried to be good all year, certain that your deeds were enough to convince Santa to put you on the nice list. You wake up as soon as you're able, run downstairs, your pajamas still on, and see the splendid 12-foot tree lit up in all its glory. And the presents, oh the presents.

Dad packs his pipe and puts on some festive music, something by Mannheim Steamroller or possibly Mahalia Jackson. Mom puts the coffee on, and you scour through the gifts cloaked in paper and draped in foliage, looking for your name, hoping to find it on the biggest package of all. You can't wait. An eternity passes until Mom and Dad get situated, and finally, it's time for presents.

Your turn can't come fast enough, and as soon as your hands touch paper, you tear through it like a snared wolverine. As the Everest of gifts gradually decreases, you find yourself surrounded by all the awesome things you begged for all year. And socks. Your pool of gifts grows and grows. You barely know what to start with.

Finally, they're all open, and all that's left under the tree is a skirt and some stray needles. But that's nothing to fret about. It just means it's time to play with all your new toys. And you dive right in with the one big gift you'd been hoping, praying, and begging for. You spend all day happily playing, checking out what your siblings got, and ignoring the socks. It's the perfect day. Magical. You couldn't be happier.

Christmas night, after dinner, and you're all tuckered out. You don't want to go to bed; you want to keep playing. But all your new toys will be waiting for you tomorrow. Nevertheless, you take the day's favorite to bed, just in case you need it.

Years pass, and you start to notice the magic of the holiday dissipate. The tree is shorter than last year. The gifts aren't as plentiful. The exchanging of presents isn't as big a deal. You're not as excited anymore. You don't look forward to it. One day you notice that you just don't care. You don't feel like dragging yourself to your parents' house. But you do. You get there, exhange Merry Christmases. There's festive music. There's a tree covered in lights. There's food and coffee and Dad might smoke his pipe. You even half-heartedly rummage through to guess what people got you. But somehow, it all just seems so... empty.

You appreciate what people give you, and you hope they like what you give them. You eat the delicious food that's been set out. You spend time with people you love. But something's off. The magic is gone. The hope, the anticipation, the fulfillment, all gone. You go through vacant motions prescribed through years of tradition, but you just don't feel anything, aside, maybe, from the desire to just get away from your family and go home.

At what point did the best day of the year devolve into an annual nuisance?

I wish Christmas would return. Jack, on the other hand, says, "fuck it".

- Nihilistic Gnome Lover

Fuck James Bond up his smarmy limey ass.

James Bond is fucking retarded.

That's not to say the character itself is mentally challenged (though that would make for a pretty interesting movie). I mean the franchise and its eponymous character is irrepressibly silly, juvenile, and just plain dumb.

Now before you start going off on a well, yeah, except for Connery / Brosnan / Craig rant, I am, indeed, referring to all of them. Each incarnation of James Bond is just awful. It's not the actors' fault, mind you. Bond is just a terribly uninteresting character. He's little more than an empty suit with a gun, a dick, and a few nifty gadgets.

I'll grant you he's got some pretty neat gadgets (as well as a treasure trove of lame ones). But that's basically it.

As a character, though, Bond is severely lacking. He's not sympathetic. You only root for him because someone needs to save the world. I'd just as soon have Bill and/or Ted step up to the plate. He's not flawed in anyway. He's just there. There's no tragic history, no secret past, no compelling origin story. He's not driven by anything other than his personal duty to queen and country.

The movies invariably follow the same cookie-cutter formula, and any deviations from it are derided by the obnoxious fanboys (who, incidentally, are convinced that there hasn't been a really good Bond movie since Dr. No.)

The villains aren't intimidating, threatening, or even remotely fearsome. They're generally evil for evil's sake. The love interests with clever names are about as interchangeable as porn stars (Michelle Yeoh notwithstanding). They may as well just recruit from the adult film industry to save on money. Lord knows the acting is just as good.

James Bond is about as dramatically interesting as Superman. At least Superman has a moral code to speak of. Bond has no problem with murder, adultury, theft, or any number of activities that are severely frowned upon in civilized society. Think about it. He has no real concern for anyone but himself, and he just happened upon a career where he can sate his bloodlust to his heart's content, spending his downtime sticking his dick in anything without one. The man may as well be a psychopath. That would at least make him a little interesting.

- Nebulous Gardening Lifts

Is Jack my demon, or am I his?

It's hard to write this, because I'm having trouble articulating what I want to say. I type like a cutter bleeds, but I can't seem to apply the right pressure to my head.

I am unhappy.

Tired, sad, dissatisfied, bored, miserable, all of these are apt descriptions of my current state.

I'm a goal-oriented individual, and I believe it's important to have something to work toward. What it is doesn't necessarily matter, just as long as there's something to look forward to, be it earning a degree, getting into law school, going to Amsterdam, or even just finishing a project you're invested in.

I don't have that.

At the end of the day, all I have to look forward to is... the end of the day. My day-to-day goals consist of getting to the weekend with minimal trouble and keeping myself amused. Being in dire financial straits hinders both of those quite a bit. I used to be able to numb my mind and not care. Alas, sobriety is a harsh mistress.

My job consists of a handful of duties that I can usually take care of in maybe two hours tops. I'm not much more than a button monkey. The rest of it is trying to look busy for anyone who may be around.

I'm kind of tired out from Anonymous. I think I might need to take a break for a bit. Stay out of the loop, not get into arguments, etc. It's something that's important to me, but I don't want to end up hating it.

The flow is a perfectly acceptable thing to go with. But right now, I'm just adrift at sea with no idea which way to row. I can't step out, because I'll drown, but I hate just sitting here.

There are any number of projects to work on, but I just can't seem to make myself give a damn. I'm not out to save the world, set things right, or make a difference. I just want to invest myself in something I'm passionate about, and right now, I'm pretty blase about everything.

I'm not feeling creative, inquisitive, inspired, or even the least bit curious about anything. Everything falls into the spectrum between "annoying" and "dreadful".

There may be something on the horizon, but I just can't be bothered to care.

Is there where I throw in the towel?

-Nominally Let Go

My own personal demon

I have my own demon.

His name is Jack, and he lives in my skull.

Jack hates me almost as much as he hates himself. He fills me with stress, hatred, sadness, and rage. He grinds me down. He devours my will. He makes me weak.

Sometimes, when my life is going well, and everything's good, Jack will rear his ugly head. He'll remind me of past traumas. He'll tell me to do things I don't want to do. He makes me feel worthless. He encourages and amplifies my pain. He knows me more intimately than anyone else. He feeds off my guilt and my shame.

Jack likes to show up when it's most inconvenient. I can usually tell when he's coming, but not always. He takes advantage of my weaknesses. He manifests himself in the most innocuous of places - songs, smells, words, everything, or sometimes even, nothing.

I do my damnedest to keep Jack at bay. I've tried lots of things. I have my secrets, and I have my techniques, but Jack knows them all, and he can be a mite unpredictable. Sometimes I expect him to show up, but he doesn't. Other times, he comes out of nowhere and tries to kill me.

I wish Jack would go away, but I know he never will. I'm condemned to live with Jack for the rest of my life. I'd rather not, but what can I do? Jack's fate is irrevocably tied to mine.


I hate Jack.

- Non-Glare Lenses

Painted smiles

I've always tried to be an authentic person, to be myself on my own terms. I've never been entirely successful, though, and I've never been able to figure out why. What it ultimately comes down to is what my fundamental nature is and what I want it to be. All baggage aside, I can be boiled down to my must fundamental essence, namely matter in a particular place at a particular time. I realized relatively recently that I should become the person I want to be. Simple enough. Decide who I want to be and work toward attaining that goal.

But I don't know, really, what I want to be. In some ways I do, of course. I want to be a good person. I want to be a happy person. Beyond that, though, I can't really say.

What I am right now is a blank slate, a sheet of paper waiting for a pencil to be applied. But what to draw?

I want to personify a transient moment. I want to be a changing constant in a hectic universe. I want to be me, here, now at all times without dwelling in the past or worrying about the future. I want to be able to redefine myself at any given instant.

But I can't. Sure, in the existential, radically free sense, I can, but in reality, I can't. I have too many commitments I'm unwilling to sacrifice and waaay too many mental barriers in my way. So, I'm just a working stiff doing my 40 hours and living vicariously through Time Lords, Batmen, Jedi Knights, and 12 oz. Mice.

Joy is fleeting. We cling to it for dear life in hopes that it will provide the elusive key to eternal happiness.

But it won't.

It never will.

I'm currently in love with a song by Rilo Kiley called A Better Son/Daughter. It goes like this:

Sometimes in the morning I am petrified and can't move
Awake but cannot open my eyes
And the weight is crushing down on my lungs
I know I can't breathe
And hope someone will save me this time
And your mother's still calling you insane and high
Swearing it's different this time
And you tell her to give in to the demons that possess her
And that god never blessed her insides
Then you hang up the phone and feel badly for upsetting things
And crawl back into bed to dream of a time
When your heart was open wide and you love things just because
Like the sick and dying

And sometimes when you're on
You're really fucking on
And your friends they sing along
And they love you
But the lows are so extreme
That the good seems fucking cheap
And it teases you for weeks in its absence
But you'll fight and you'll make it through
You'll fake it if you have to
And you'll show up for work with a smile
And you'll be better
You'll be smarter
More grown up and a better daughter or son
And a real good friend
And you'll be awake
You'll be alert
You'll be positive though it hurts
And you'll laugh and embrace all of your friends
And you'll be a real good listener
You'll be honest
You'll be brave
You'll be handsome and you'll be beautiful
You'll be happy

Your ship may be coming in
You're weak but not giving in
To the cries and the wails of the valley below
Your ship may be coming in
You're weak but not giving in
And you'll fight it you'll go out fighting all of them

- Niggardly Gelatinous Lesbian

Axia

All knowledge is the result of either observation or logical inference. I exist in some capacity. For all practical purposes, the universe exists roughly as I perceive it. My senses corroborate one another's observations and pick of the slack when others falter. All knowledge is tentative.

Non-being cannot be. Myths don't have to be true for you to learn from them. Theology is silly. Faith is dangerous. Religion does more harm than good. Nothing should be exempt from rational inquiry, no matter how sacred or personal someone thinks it is. Your freedom to believe what you choose is not a license to force those beliefs on others. All knowledge is tentative.

Perfection is necessarily unattainable. Coincidences are rare but inevitable. Confessions of ignorance are necessary for learning, while appeals to the supernatural stifle it. Most beliefs depend on an individual's perspective. No one is infallible, unquestionable, or in any way perfect. Everyone gets one chance at life. This is it. The more you learn, the less you know. All knowledge is tentative.

It's not a goddamn competition. Everyone suffers. Everyone experiences insecurity, sadness, and existential angst. Everyone's different, but that doesn't make them special. Life is hard. There's always something worse to fight. There's always something better to strive for. That doesn't make your goals meaningless. Easiness is not simplicity. Belief is not opinion. Emptiness is not nothingness. All knowledge is tentative.

- Northeastern Leverage Guild

Queries, Questions, and Quandries

Why do we look to politicians for moral guidance?

When did actors start being revered instead of reviled?

What’s the point of serifs?

Why is the Joker a monkey?

What does God have to do with morality?

Why do people cling to false beliefs when the truth is liberating?

Why is that ugly pale shade of yellowish beige used for anything?

What’s wrong with Hollywood?

Isn’t strawmanning just another way of admitting defeat?

Why is the driver’s side always on the traffic side?

Where did people get the idea that there was never any sex or violence in entertainment "back in the day"?

Why do people insist on legislating morality?

What’s wrong with transparancy?

Why do people insist that Collateral was a good movie?

Doesn’t the fact that you’re fucking with your brain negate any knowledge gained through psychedelics?

What’s with the attitude that the quality of a film is directly related to the message it tries to relay?

When did being smart, inquisitive, and critical become a bad thing?

Since when is Oriental a racial slur?

Why do people get all offended when you dare utter the wrong set of syllables?

- Noodles Get Lips

An Open Letter to Hasbro

Dear Hasbro,

I've enjoyed your line of Star Wars action figures since its inception with Kenner in the late 1970s. Over the past 30 years, your action figures have evolved, growing more and more impressive with each line. The sculpting, deco, and articulation are always finding new ways to impress me.

That is why I was so taken aback after purchasing the Jedi vs. Sith Battle Pack. I had looked forward to this set for some time, and I'm sorry to say, I missed it when it was released under the ROTS line. Now, I'm certain you've fielded your share of questions regarding the fact that, despite its name, the Jedi vs. Sith set does not, in fact, include any Sith. That's fine. I've made peace with that. My gripe is far more substantial than mere semantics in nomenclature.

Let me put it bluntly.

This figure infuriates me. In fact, you have failed so spectacularly with this abortion of a plaything that I was unable to put my heartwrenching disappointment into words for a fortnight. You had a magnificent opportunity to do something really special with this one, but no. You didn't just drop the ball, here. You hurled the ball downward with all your might, with the hope, it seems, of putting yourself in orbit.

Let's think about this, ok? There are 5 figures, here. Grievous and Yoda are both repacks of older figures. While, Anakin, Asajj, and Obi-Wan were all new figures, there have been Asajj Ventresses on the market for a while, and the battle-damaged Anakin Skywalker was previously available in the Clone Wars Animated line. The point, here, is that Hasbro had, until this point, never released an Obi-Wan in clone armor before. There was plenty of demand for such a figure, and many of us were excited to see it in this Battle Pack.

That excitement was soon replaced with furious rage when I opened the box.

The first problem is the armor. Rather than the tried 'n' true snap-on method, you opted for the posts & holes technique. This was a bad idea. Why? Because the armor pieces don't stay in place! I had a hell of a time trying to keep all the armor pieces on at the same time. It took forever until I finally decided that those transparent rubber bands were the way to go.

Not only are the arm and leg pieces sorry, but the helmet is lopsided and just tight enough that it takes Obi-Wan's head with it when I try to remove the damn thing. The chest plate is attached to the plastic/vinyl robe/cape thingy, offering us something reminiscent of old Ben's bulk cloak from 1995.

Not only does the armor suck, the articulation is bad, too. First, we have a ball-hinged head that, as I mentioned, was too loose. Second, ball-jointed shoulders are probably not the way to go, when the figure comes with shitty armor that's supposed to cover them. The arms are an obvious cash-saver attempt with the swivel elbows. Seriously? You know, you didn't have to make the arms jointed like that. In fact, if I'm trying to pose my Obi-Wan in armor and his arms straight at his side, he looks fucking retarded!

That's not all, though. Thanks to the ridiculous action feature you insisted on using, this figure only has one poseable leg. Great. Now I can't hide him away in a spaceship somewhere, because he can't fucking sit down!

Speaking of action features, whose idea was it to include saber-swinging action on a figure with loose-fitting armor? I mean, come on! Even if you do get it all on, the moment you squeeze the legs together, half the armor falls off anyway.

And to top it all off, you gave him ball-hinged ankles. I cannot think of a single scenario in which this figure, with its one articulated leg, would need ball-hinged ankles. Why would you do this?

Now, I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me it costs a lot to add articulation to these figures, plus the cost of the removable armor, and the other figures in the set make it necessary to cut some corners.

To that, I say bullshit. You had 3 very clear options with this figure: Super articulation, removable armor, and action feature. Well, all those ball-hinges are pricey. I understand that. So, why did you include them in the most cumbersome and inconsequential places on this figure? The armor would have worked if you'd placed joints in more appropriate places and used armor pieces that don't completely suck. As for the action feature, well, if it was that important to you, then ditch the goddamn removable armor! I know for a fact that it would've been possible to do a clonetrooper/Obi-Wan kit-bash. Seriously. I've done it. It worked out way better than this abomination of a toy.

I saw at ToyFair that you were going to release a newer version of this figure. I hope it's an improvement.

- North Green Land

A fun little scenario to brighten your day.

Suppose God (i.e. the universe-creating deity who has a personal stake in everyone's lives) is really real. Suppose further that this God had a Chosen People. These Chosen People have survived generations of enslavement and persecution, but thanks to the intervention of this God and his Chosen Mouthpiece, the people were able to vanquish their masters and escape.

Upon escaping, this god promises these Chosen People a home of their own, and he tells them where it is and how to get there. He also tells them the land would already be occupied, but they're entitled to it, so the people living there should just find someplace else or suffer the consequences.

So, finally, the Chosen People reach the promised land. They land their spaceships and start exterminating all the humans.

- Neon Green Lantern

See, here’s what happened: Religion and Morality

Some people got together long ago before there was writing and determined that some behaviors are immoral. Some may be detrimental to society as a whole, while others just seem unnatural, counterintuitive, or just really gross. Naturally, your people will accept these as immoral because you're the guy with the divine mandate.

To help illustrate the evil and wickedness of immoral behavior, you tell stories detailing the terrible consequences that will occur if someone angers the gods, be it through masturbation or fetal rape. There's always a divine punishment. For those who behave well, there's a divine reward.

Fortunately, your people are pretty smart. They know the stories are just entertaining myths used to illustrate a point.

Everything's cool for a few generations. Other myths have been created, some detailing the heroic feats of great men, others attempting to explain natural phenomena. With each telling, the myths evolve and take on a life of their own.

Then something terrible happens.

Some irresponsible mouth-breathing douchebag has his family gathered around the fire to once again regale them with the Legend of how Daniel the Brave defeated the Muggers. As he finishes the story, he says, "And the most amazing part of the story? It really happened!"

Really! It's a true story! Generation after generation, the story is told as fact. It still evolves, of course, but the perceived factual basis never goes away, because that's the best part.

Eventually, the written word comes about. By this point, Daniel the Brave is now Dave, and Muggers has become Buggers. The story is written accordingly, and suddenly you have the Legend of how Dave defeated the Buggers. The story is translated into other languages numerous times by numerous people, and thousands of years later, the story can be found anywhere on the planet.

Suppose, now, that you're living in modern times. You're familiar with previous translations, and you always thought something didn't add up. One day, after reading the latest translation of How Dave Defeated the Buggers, you decide to discuss it with some colleagues. This most recent translation got you thinking that the story might not be true, and that buggery may not be all that evil. You share your thoughts, and suddenly everyone explains that you read the wrong translation. There's only one right one. Your faith in Dave isn't strong enough. You're a heretic. And probably a bugger. You've lost your way, but if you pray to Dave, you may find it again.

Most importantly, you learn this:

"Of course buggery's evil. Just look at the buggers that Dave defeated."

But, you argue, the story clearly shows Dave defeating a group of men who tried to beat him up and rob him. There's no mention of buggery, except in the title and description of the men.

"Well, that's what buggers do! They're not to be trusted."

Have you ever met a bugger?

"Well, no, but..."

Then how do you know?

"It is written."

Ok, well, why is buggery immoral, then?

"The story says so."

The only reason you're opposed to buggery is because of the story?

"Without these stories, there wouldn't be any morality. People would be running rampant in the streets raping churches and burning women."

But what if the stories were just stories used to illustrated why something is wrong? What if something was lost in translation? What if....

"Well, that's just ridiculous."

- Nambla's Greatest Loss

Me, naked pt. 1

I've mentioned before that one major factor in changing my outlook on life was the EELS. I mark the fateful day when I bought Souljacker for $6.00 at the bookstore as a major milestone in my life. The album on its own isn't their best, nor is it particularly enlightening, (though it's still quite good). But it opened a door for me that shifted my balance. I was well on my way to a bachelor's in philosophy and struggling with my personal crisis of faith. (Don't worry. I'm not going to get all Jesusy on you.)

I was brought up a strict conservative Catholic. I didn't realize until much later how over the top it was, so let me put it into perspective for you:

My first Communion was from Pope John Paul II. No, I'm not joking.
I had to pray the Rosary daily.
I wasn't allowed to play with Masters of the Universe toys (because I guess Skeletor was too demonic).
I wasn't allowed to listen to rock music until I was about 9, and even then, not on Sundays (because that's the Lord's day.)

I was the middle child among 4 kids. Joe was the oldest, George was the baby, and Teresa was the girl. I always felt kind of lost in the mix.

So, here's a shy, awkward kid in a big über-Catholic family. I never really had the chance to find my voice before being drowned out (and that plagues me to this day).

I went to Catholic school, where I learned that pride is a sin. When you're 6 years old, shy, and awkward, there's a fine line between self-esteem and pride, and I completely missed it. As a result, I grew up thinking it was my Christian duty to see myself in a negative light.

It was already difficult enough to feel good about myself, but the knowledge that I would be condemned to eternal hellfire if I did compounded the guilt.

And you know how Catholics are about guilt.

As a result, I was never good at making friends, carrying a conversation, or acting social in any capacity. I was much more content to play with my G.I. Joe and Star Wars guys. This has had no impact on my adult life whatsoever.

(Funny side note: I mentioned earlier I wasn't allowed Masters of the Universe toys. Well, back when I was 7 or 8, I decided that when I grow up, and I don't have to obey my parents anymore, I was gonna buy my own MOTU toys and play the hell out of them. I forgot that inner monologue until maybe 5 years ago, after purchasing a Skeletor figure and started playing around with it. Life is funny like that.)

So, fast forward to about 2003. I take George to our first EELS concert. He hadn't really listened to them before (except for on the drive up to Chicago) and wasn't expecting much. I didn't know what to expect, to be honest, but they rocked my socks off. Toward the end, E (the singer/songwriter/Trent Reznor analogue) spoke to the audience, as dynamic front men tend to do. He said it's odd how oblivious we are to the fact that we deserve good things to happen to us, and we should do something nice for ourselves from time to time.

Then he closed with Somebody Loves You.

That always stuck with me. It's good for me to be happy, to feel good about myself. I realized that wallowing in self-pity gets me nowhere. I needed to either accept who I am or become who I wanted to be.

"Start to be what they want you to be, and you see yourself as they see you." - E

- Nipples, Glans, Labia