Sunday, October 31, 2010

My running commentary while out on the town

Hey man, thanks for letting me ride with you Wow downtown is packed I've never seen anything like it Sweet Literally everyone's in a costume I feel underdressed even though I have a sign that says I'm a bad Invisible Man Check out that gorilla and that criminal He looks the Hamburglar robble robble and check out the ladies There's a hooker, a hooker, a hooker, a hooker, a Ninja Turtle hooker, a cop hooker, a sexy booby hooker Hey it's Breast Cancer Awareness Month...hooker, Girl Scout hooker, pimp with hooker, no, park in the garage if you can man I've never seen this place so packed that's awesome WHOA WE GOT LITERALLY THE LAST SPOT AT THE TOP OF THE TOWER man, did we ever luck out that's all you dude If we'd been in my car that never would have happened I have bad luck you see. Well, let's get down can you even walk in those slippers made out of motorcycle tires quite a conversation piece dude everyone's checking you out, yeah you're right a feathered headdress always catches the eye I'm going to have to try that sometime when it isn't Halloween Guy's leering at a sexy officer saying he should get busted for possession Dude, possession of a few grams isn't a crime BURN So where are the girls? Oh, Mudhouse, I like that place hey you can walk in the street like at Mardi Gras awesome never seen that here before hey look it's the Village People if they were all the construction worker and a cute hooker, a goth hooker, a Rainbow Brite hooker, hooker, hooker, hooker, one of the Things from Cat in the Hat I wanted to do that one year Oh the girls are now at someplace neither of us have heard of It's annoying when people use nicknames to describe a place you've never been to Bloody locals Let's stop in Mud Lounge They're nonsmoking and serve the only alcoholic drink I like Woodchuck man this bar is crowded there's Dangle from Reno 911! Here, give me the 20 I'll wave it Wow that worked again, that's you I would have been ignored without your lucky presence What's that, Santa and guy in his skeevy underwear You want me to dig into your bag You first, friend HA HA HA HA My turn oh great a tiny bottle of grape vodka that's not as interesting oh well Let's go sit next to sexy Asian schoolgirl she seems nice OK a girl with SLUT on her shirt's going dancing No joke, dancing at the Mud Lounge Weird but fun I'm dancing Hey, nice shirt oh OK totally ignore me Slut Hi my name is Ian Nice to meet you Cynthia Man my spastic dancing has really attracted the dancers Hope I don't kill myself on some complicated dance move It's getting hot in here take off all your clothes Maybe not but I'll take off my outer shirt and tie that to my waist My jeans are slipping Damn This gladiator is mocking my dance moves I shall mock his Hey cute Mario Kart girl Hey cute non-costumed girl Man why do these girls all want to dance with me Who cares bump bump bump Now this is a story all about how my life got twist-turned upside down so take a minute just sit right there and I'll tell how I became the prince of a town called Bel-Air chick's impressed I know the words so is the clown she's dancing with that girl in the skeleton suit may be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen No, the sexy officer in the blue is She's dancing with me Hey, nice outfit Now she's gone Figures Hi Valerie, I'm Ian Nice name Let's Dance under the moonlight, the serious moonlight Everytime I see you falling I get down on my knees and pray but complicated move FAIL man my pal can dance all I can do is make girls laugh with mine That girl has a bloody baby doll with an umbilical cord she gave a high-five for liking her costume I'm holding her baby Not mine though SLASH Hi I'm Axl I cut my hair OK let's go meet the girls Oh thanks for letting me wear the headdress man wow everyone's looking Not invisible anymore ooh, sexy cop's asking me about it Oh I'm being my friend Oh this is my actual hair You're arresting Amish guy's sign is funny "Thank God for Plan B" flip side says "Abortions are gay" HA HA HA HA OK the girls aren't there either they're where we just passed No we really don't want to pay $15 each for pub crawl bracelets when closing time's in five minutes Yeah we know it's not your fault man Oh what you'll let us in anyway Thanks man here's a money shake it's not much but it's what I got and I always wanted to do this There they are Oh you hugged them Oh they barely noticed me standing there man that hurts my massive yet fragile ego Oh man, is that Brett Favre with a giant CENSORED tag drooping over his man meat ALL the girls are talking to him I remember when I was 11 I also made a jersey out of a blue shirt and yellow tape for a costume and kids made fun of me but now it's clever yay adulthood Last call man they get pissy in Springfield I'll wait by the door No I can't let you in I'm not the doorman Everybody's hungry I'm not even though I've had one sandwich in 24 hours Dude nice loft your fridge is exactly as I imagined it ha ha you can see the entire scene from your windows wow you could fall right out of here and die but it's worth the entertainment Is there pickup service for white trash Oh look it's some skeleton dudes and more hookers We're going to the greasy burger joint across the street it's so packed We give up Going to Jimmy John's freakyfastfreakygood it is Man that Ghostbuster has the most authentic proton pack I've ever seen it even has lit-up LEDs man that totally outdoes the Ghostbusters suit I had when I was nine Man, Springfield people are rude sorry you're OK didn't mean to offend OK back to the loft to eat Is he passed out or dead WEDGIE TIME OK everyone's turning in Let's go home but not before a long, sober conversation about attitudes, careers, life and the nature of spirituality You're a good friend Oh look another hooker

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Wanted: Your blog

So my new template has gone live, as you can see. Hope you like it. I do.

I'm going to add more items to the sidebars as time goes by. One of those will be a new blogroll. My old link lists, which I'd jettisoned a while back, were a bit musty. So I want to start fresh.

If you have a blog you'd like linked here, let me know, and I'll get it on. It doesn't have to be liberal-leaning or even political. If I like you, you're in. Time to bring people together again.

Oh, and feedback is also welcome, good or bad. I'm always open to change.

A thought I had while thinking about something else

Pat Buchanan once said that Democrats push assistance for the poor because the poor inevitably vote Democratic. 

I think he was trying to be critical.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Putting the "fan" and "tic" in "fanatic"

I follow a number of New Orleans Saints players on Twitter. Following the Saints’ losses to both Arizona and Cleveland, players were posting thoughts about how the loss was bad/sad/WTF/etc., but it’s OK and time to move on. I don’t know how they go through the five stages of grief so fast (though I suspect extra zeroes on the paychecks greases the conveyor belt a bit), but good for them for staying at least outwardly positive. As a superfan who’s as competitive in my own endeavors as when I’m watching football, I have a hard time being the same way. These guys (along with my sister) are good signposts for keeping my head clear.

On the other hand, one of my favorite players took a more competitive tack, expressing a sentiment that applies to politics as well as sports. Linebacker Jonathan Vilma apparently received several tweets from fans spewing disgust over the Browns game, and accused them of being fairweather fans. He later tweeted something like, the bandwagon’s a lot lighter now. On one level, I agree — easy come, easy go. On the other hand, I don’t see anything wrong with a true fan being unhappy with their team, especially when they feel their chosen team has more potential. Maybe they shouldn’t mouth off to players while the anger’s still fresh, but being critical is not the same as turning your back on the team. I’ve always said a real fan loves their team even when they’re losing (as all Saints fans live by, even though I sometimes state otherwise), but will still be there in the end no matter what happens.

That’s also how I define patriotism. Not to be confused with the Patriots, who can (with all due respect) suck it.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Still here

Toying with template changes to my blog. Too many glitches to roll out at this time, but I like the way it's turning out. Change is good.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Workplace question

If your female co-worker in India has two brand-new Nano cars, is it harassment to tell her she has nice Tatas?

Dueling bumper stickers

"Work hard. Millions on welfare are depending on you."

"We should work two days a week and fish the other five."

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

A memory that leaves one bitter taste

Scientists say taste is one of the strongest sensations the human brain can recall. As someone with an above-average memory, I think this goes double for me, and helps explain why I’m such a picky eater. Never mind how I feel about medication.

For most of my life, Robitussin was my go-to medicine. I’m a bit more picky these days, but fortunately I rarely get sick. As a child, though, I probably coughed more often than I didn’t. Chronic bronchitis, combined with the cigarette smoke I was constantly around nearly everywhere I went, left me gagging through most of my single-digit years. And amid the shuffle of Robitussin, Tylenol, Triaminic, Panadol, Mentholatum, penicillin and Vicks, there was, for one brief flash, the worst medicine in the entire history of my existence.

Mamou cough syrup.

Even as a child, I understood that medicine had to taste disgusting to be effective. But in the spring and summer of 1985, Mamou took that trope to a whole new astral plane. My parents and grandparents had to physically restrain me to force this poison down my throat. I’m not sure if I’d yet seen the then-recent Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, but the scene where our hero refuses to drink the Blood of Kali definitely would have had some subconscious influence.

What made Mamou so rotten to the tongue wasn’t its taste so much as its aftertaste. To this day, anything that leaves a bitter aftertaste conjures up what I think of as the Mamou effect. It’s a mixture of honey, burnt sugar, flat cola, alcohol and sheer terror.

I can’t be sure Mamou was even real. Because with the exception of that one bottle that frightened me every time I saw it, I never came across another. Nor has anyone I’ve talked to ever even heard of it. It just appeared one day, like one of those episodic nightmares that came into my life just to wreak its havoc and go, never to be alluded to again.

As a child, I often spewed random words and names without context or with any idea how I knew them. (One example I remember from the same timeframe is how I’d say, “real ess-tate!” when I thought something was super-cool, because every afternoon my bus passed The Real Estate Building. Low-level autism, I suppose.) Mamou is a small town near where I grew up in south Louisiana, so it was entirely possible that I assigned the name of the town to the medicine at a time when I still couldn’t read very well.

On the other hand, I remember the bottle very well. The brown glass. The flask-like shape. The old-school, children-be-damned cap. And, of course, the label. It was white, with “MAMOU” across the top in red letters in Broadway font. (Even the font terrified me to the extent that, whenever we passed a print shop in downtown Lafayette that had Broadway font on its sign, I was terrified that we were going to stop in to buy more Mamou.) Underneath the brand name was a statement that featured the words “...#1 cough syrup...” Which to me meant that it wouldn’t get any better than this. I hoped Robitussin would work extra hard to regain its top-shelf status, stat!

I don’t remember what the rest of the label said, but I remember it being really wordy. Perhaps it was a primer on how to force that slop down the unfortunate patient’s throat. If that’s the case, my family followed that to the letter. I may never know.

What I can remember is several distinct instances when I had to take Mamou. I remember the settings, the crying, the pleading, the way my normally wonderful grandparents sprouted horns and fangs upon contact with the bottle, how it took a minimum of four people to subdue me with every dose, the way droplets of Mamou spilled on my favorite 7 UP shirt. Oh, the humanity!

I even had a Mamou nightmare. In it, I woke up in a bed in my grandparents’ house, which I considered a sanctuary. Hovering above me were two pretty women dressed as giant Mamou bottles, touting their product like a 1950s commercial. I jumped out of the bed and bolted for the kitchen, which to my horror had become a Mamou assembly line, churning out thousands of bottles that snaked around me while factory workers I identified as family and friends danced and sang a rousing musical number touting the virtues of the #1 cough syrup. No doubt this vision came under the influence of Mamou, and perhaps after a rerun of Laverne and Shirley.

The last time I remember ever seeing that wretched bottle was at our camp in Butte La Rose, Louisiana, sometime in the summer of 1985 or ’86. I had been there the last time I had to take some, and I remember nearly passing out from the stress of it. But at this point, I was well and hopping around. My brother had found the Mamou in a drawer, and pointed it out to me. I recoiled at the sight of it, then closed the drawer. After that, Robitussin seemed like a taste treat. Never again did I ever deal with Mamou.

So now, of course, I’m insanely curious about it. Does anyone else out in Louisiana remember Mamou cough syrup? Did it actually come from Mamou? Is it still in production? If so, I’d like to take a second crack at it next time I’m sick. And, if I can find an older bottle, I could finally figure out what all those words on the label said. In 2004, I had the fortune of meeting someone with a full bottle of Hadacol, who even let me take a whiff of the famed snake oil. So how hard can it be to locate a vintage 1980s bottle of Mamou?

But if nothing else, I always have my memories. And musical Mamou nightmares. Which I’m sure to revisit tonight after writing this. Cough!

Monday, October 18, 2010

Midterm electoral thought

Conventional wisdom is that the Republicans are poised for huge gains in the Senate and could outright take over the House. This is based on something called "the enthusiasm gap." Basically, the GOP and its tea party contingent are fiercely fired up and motivated with pep, vim, vigor, piss and vinegar, while Democrats and progressives have been seen criticizing the Obama administration. A wash, right?

Wrong. What matters is the amount of votes in November. Not how loud one talks, not how much they attract media attention, not dissenting thoughts that are part of an ideologically diverse party. All of that is ultimately immaterial. No one's polled or shone a camera on me, or attempted to dissect my degree of enthusiasm, but my vote will count all the same. And regardless of any hangups I might have with the incumbent party, I still keep the big picture in mind.

I think that's true of most voters right now. And that, more than any honor-restoring, tea-guzzling or country-back-taking, will shine on Election Day.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

The 14 old friends you make on Facebook

Facebook is a doubled-edged sword: it’s an unprecedented, fantastic tool for reconnecting with old friends; at the same time, it can also deflate any fond memories by showing what you’re not missing now. Here are the 14 old friends you make on Facebook:

The BFF you never talk to
“Holy crap! My bestest friend ever is on Facebook! Aw, man, I can’t wait to reminisce about all the crazy times we had together almost every day for so many years. He’s gonna FREAK OUT when he sees my invitation and it’s gonna be great times all over again! Maybe we’ll even make a date to play old-school Sega Genesis and compose terrible songs on my karaoke machine again. Hell yeah!”

Three years later...

“Huh. A status update. I forgot about him.”

The interesting friend who got boring
“My life used to be about meaningless stuff like campus activism, stimulating and entertaining conversations, saving drowning infants at the soup kitchen, downing Dos Equis and generally effecting positive change in the world. But these days I have a much more fulfilling life as a stay-at-home mom, you know, once I have any kids. Here’s 12 photo albums of my floor.”

The boring friend who got interesting
“I was the kid on the peripheral end of the clique, whose main claim to fame was that I didn’t have a distinct personality. I laughed when everyone else did and didn’t say much otherwise. You liked having me around because I was so benign. Then I graduated, left for Hollywood, made a decent name for myself and used my fortune to help out my family. By the way, did you know I lived in a box in high school? I was too busy quietly smiling to tell anyone. My parents worked so much that they literally never came home. I made them a promise that I’d never forget my humble roots when I made it big. And so when I became a famous actor, I gave them enough money to quit their jobs and get a nicer box in a ritzy neighborhood. Then there was time I dated Hayden Panettiere. She’s nice enough, but I felt like I could do better. Speaking of better, the Saints have offered me a tryout in the offensive backfield. Since I live in New Orleans now (except when I’m jetting to my getaway in Beverly Hills), that should allow me to balance my acting and pro football careers quite nicely, and maybe even allow me a little time to pop over to Europe for a steam-blowing weekend. So how have you been?”

No time for memories
“My profile is blank, except for my interests, which says, ‘No time.’ In fact, why am I squandering time on this at all? Don’t message me. You’ll waste your time.”

The friend who found Jesus
“When I first knew you, brother, I was lost and wayward. I thought about killing myself every single hour of every single day. Sure, I had a happy exterior on the outside, but I was nothing but a hollow chasm inside. You know, back when we were friends and all. Not that I ever told you or even hinted at it. But today, I am born anew in the reverent glow of Christ Jesus, Our Lord and Savior! I have a beautiful Christian wife and four glowing Christian children, and we all go to church every day and on weekends picket wicked coffeehouses on Saturday nights. All my pictures are of me in a suit. All I ever talk about is God. And Republican politics. Tell me, are you a sinner in the eyes of Kirk Cameron?”

The friend who found Glenn Beck
“Liberal? Aw, man, that’s sad. You used to be such a good guy. But I don’t know if I can even consort with such a lousy ‘American.’ Of course, count on me to lurk around and occasionally post asshole comments out of nowhere on even remotely political statuses. Be a mutual friend of Sarah Palin or go home!”

Irony OD-ing hipster
“See how my name has no capital letters and a period at the end? And how my profile pic is of Vanilla Ice from the cover of ‘Cool as Ice’? That’s how I roll. Legalize it. Free Mumia. American Apparel. Keep Austin weird. Word up.”

The conspiracy theorist
“Hi! How are you? I’ve missed you! Tell me, how exactly do you think 9/11 was a inside job? LIHOP or MIHOP?”

The Let-Go-Getter
“HEY! We should totally catch up. So much shit has happened in my life in the intervening years and it shows. By the way, I used to like you back in the day, even though you thought I was too unattainable for you. Want to make up for lost time? Word of warning: I fart like a dude. You should hear it! Epic!”

The Swan
“My life has multiplied in awesomeness ever since I found the courage to break away from the stifling social ostracism of the past. Thank you for motivating me to realize my full potential much later in life. It keeps me going every day.”

The person who treats you exactly the same as they did in high school
“We’ll probably talk once, casually, and spend the rest of our lives telling mutual acquaintances that we know each other. Just like we’ve always done.”

The Time Warp
“I’ve changed so little since graduation that even my Facebook page looks like it was coded in 1998. I can name every power forward on this year’s basketball team.”

The Wanderer
“My passport has more stamps than the post office. I am never in North America. You will read every last detail and regret your pithy life as a result.”

What you always suspected
“I’m crazy and I’m finally embracing it!”

I’m probably that last one to most people.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

The power of perseverance or something

Yesterday, only four people (myself included) showed up for my weekly flag football game. Which was weird, because we usually get no fewer than eight (and as many as 22), and the weather was absolutely perfect for it.

Nevertheless, those of us who showed up were not going home without having played some football. Among us were Saints, Rams, Chiefs and Dolphins fans, so we all needed something to do.

Two-on-two, one-hand-touch football. It reminded of that time when I was six when my cousin and I played duck-duck-goose by ourselves.

Andy and I battled hard against Jack and Kenny. Well, at least after we fell into a 34-0 hole. Happens when your field is 50 yards long and there are so many turnovers on downs.

But we bounced back in the second half to take a 58-56 lead. This is professional-level football we're talking here. See, kids? Never give up!

Oh, we still lost 80-64. Comebacks work both ways. For my efforts, I got a handsome bruise on my left knee that looks like a game of connect-the-dots. Wanna see? Sure you do.

This is what I do when I'm not writing my book. Oh yeah, there's a book. But that's for later.

CLARIFICATION: The above picture is of my knee, not a bald man's head. Apparently, I have to clarify that. That's the last time I take a Photo Booth picture with my laptop on the floor...

Wednesday, October 06, 2010

Online privacy-shredding algorithm FAIL

According to, this is where I work as a copy editor:

If they're going to link me to the wrong SNL, couldn't it at least be Saturday Night Live?

Tuesday, October 05, 2010

.99 problems

Somebody I'm acquainted with was celebrating his frequent-flyer status this morning due to his many international flights. He said he hoped that meant he wouldn't have to sit on the back of the plane much this year, because he's getting too old for that.

And I thought to myself, "Now there's a guy who needs a break once in awhile."

Monday, October 04, 2010

The case of the unknown Facebook friend

While staying up way too late last night, I suddenly had a burning desire...

(Let me finish...) figure out who was the first person I ever friended on Facebook. Because I literally have no idea who it is. All I know is this:

1) I set up my account either on June 5, 2005 or July 5, 2005, which rules out 90-95 percent of my friends now;

2) In those days, you had to be a verified college student, which immediately ruled out my parents, siblings and most of my relatives;

3) Only a handful of my friends had even heard of Facebook at that point, and none of my best friends at the time used it;

4) I had just graduated with my master’s degree, and so what few friends I still had around from the program had already begun fading out of my social circle;

5) Of those I still talked to, I mostly did so through e-mail listservs, blogging, telephone calls and just plain hanging out;

6) Many of my best friends didn’t have accounts until much later, or still hold out;

7) Despite all that, it wasn’t someone I didn’t know.

So basically, whoever was my first friend on Facebook was a UL student who I felt close enough to add, but not close enough to where I saw or talked to them on a regular basis. And this was during a summer when I hardly saw any of my friends at all, because school was over and I was job-hunting and/or being a general recluse.

There may be literally no way to answer this question. But if there is, a falling tree will speak it when no one else is around.

Time to get outside, Ian.

Friday, October 01, 2010

Bad hair day

So I got a haircut this afternoon. I went to a place other than (and a few notches below) my normal joint. Once when I went to this place in the past, the stylist spent the entire session drooling over some heartthrob with her co-workers, giving me a bald spot in the process. Good times.

Today, I walked in, and the woman asked how she could help me. A pretty dumb question, granted, but I simply said, "I'd like to get a haircut, please." She then set me up and went to work on an older woman's do. I immediately noticed that these women were the only ones working. The other two-thirds of the salon was deserted.

The other stylist's actions and speech suggested that she was having the worst day of her life. So of course, I got her.

After the hi-ya-doin small talk, where she said she was "fine" with a dismissive hand-swipe that could have sliced a ninja in half, she asked me how I wanted my hair (because I have options, apparently). She then prepared her clippers and went about her business without saying a word. I'm not a huge small-talker, but that's always kind of weird. 

About halfway through, another guy walked in. She perked up and asked how she could help him. He said, about as dryly as anyone can, "I'm here about long-term life insurance." Hah, I thought, he must be a regular. Not according to her face. Awkward silence. "Really, what kind of question is that?"  he asked in apparent seriousness. Even awkwarder silence. I smirked. The woman who was already wielding scissors in a bizarre fashion an inch from my skull just sulked. The guy gave his best just-kidding laugh, got on the list and walked out.

"Every damn day, somebody thinks that's funny," my stylist sighed to her co-worker. 

"At least he was creative with it," the co-worker replied.

As quickly as it started, my haircut was finished. I tipped $3, because that's how I roll. The stylist was suddenly a lot nicer to me. I suspected as much and frankly, can identify.

While driving out of the parking lot to the nearest intersection, a peppermint I had popped in my mouth before pulling in finally wore down to nothing. Seriously, that's how fast I can get my hair cut. In a way, though, the stylist's surly attitude seemed to stretch it out. Normally, such an encounter would bother me. But it seems like a lot of people have bad days these days, and that doesn't make them bad people. All we can do is press on. Right?

The haircut wasn't half-bad either. In fact, I really like it. Go figure...

Daily affirmation for the month

By most metrics, September was a pretty lousy month for me. Nothing excruciatingly bad happened; it was just one of those rut months. That happens sometimes, but never more than 12 times in a year, so I've got it under control.

Perhaps you know the feeling — everything you've been looking forward to is either in the past or in the distant future. Plans in between can't quite come together. Days seem increasingly monotonous, but at the same time, you feel uncertain about the future. Even your diversions seem to cause you more grief and stress than they're worth a lot of the time. I'm looking at you, football and blog! Also, one of my best friends just moved away. To California. I'll miss him amid much jealousy.

Something apparently snapped in me within the past month, because from Sept. 1 on, I made a laundry list of changes to my daily routine, some of which are inexplicable:

• For the first time since moving here almost four years ago, I rearranged all the furniture in my apartment;

• I began taking different routes to commute to and from work, both of which are longer, but make for a more enjoyable drive through the city;

• I moved my laptop and old-school wired modem from my office desk to my living-room couch, where I've crashed most nights ever since;

• I've started shopping at different grocery stores and eating different food;

• I've been listening to CDs again, and have made a concerted effort to listen to music like I used to, just being in my room and letting the beat get me moving.

• I've been regularly working my upper body with weights and resistance exercises, a challenge given how screwed-up my shoulders are and how much less exciting that is than running, biking or playing football;

• I occasionally go somewhere for a reason other than working, working out, buying necessities or addressing some grave injustice / stuffy head;

• I've been growing my hair out in an effort to look 14 again, but mostly I look like a 30-year-old in need of a haircut. Which actually isn't that far off the mark.

• I sometimes spend my late nights playing Tetris on NES, with the most atmospheric score playing. Clears the cobwebs. Also, I'm getting really good at it.

• I'm watching and reading games/books/websites that I normally wouldn't be interested in, for that exact reason.

• For the first time in two years, I washed the flags we use for flag football. Let's just say that was overdue. Also receiving mercifully necessary cleanings: my bike, my carpet, my cubicle and my ears.

There are other things too. But we'll leave it at those for now.

Unlike the torrential floods that opened September and immediately ended a long stretch of hot summer dog-day fun, October is starting with totally clear, sunny and ideal weather. I'm hoping to tap into that to have a better month than the previous one. There's no singular thing compelling me to do this, but I feel the need to take control of what often feels like a runaway life. However small the changes, I feel like they make a difference. And I will continue to make my life better in any way necessary. Because it's what everyone should do. Also, because being depressed sucks.

I've also vowed to make a difference somehow and stop living so much in my head. Well, OK, starting now...