Author Archives: Morgan

Old Model Army, or Why I’m Not Emo Anymore

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I was an angry, disillusioned, totally emo chick in college. 

I’m not exactly sure how it happened. 

(Translation: it would take far longer than this blog post to explain, and I’m not sure we’re at the stage in our interwebs relationship where I open up that much.  )

Right.  So, angry.  Emo.  My writing 101 prof called me a nihilist existentialist. 

Wow.  Really?  No, really?

Well.  What sort of music does a nihilist existentialist listen to?

Why, New Model Army, of course.   My favorite album of theirs, The Ghost of Cain.

They were angry.  Oh, so very angry.  I submit the following selections from the track list as evidence: 

The Hunt – Vigilante-ism at its finest:

“No police, no summons, no courts of law | no proper procedures, no rules of war | no mitigating circumstance | no lawyer’s fees no second chance”

“We can spend our whole life waiting for some thunderbolt to come | Or we can spend our whole life waiting for some justice to be done | Unless we make our own”

Lights Go Out – The worker’s lament:

“I went to my father, said please make me king… | He said son, well you gotta do your time | I’ve done 53 years and I haven’t yet done mine | You’re just one of the millions waiting in line”

“Though we asked for the money, and money they gave | God how that made us easy to enslave | So today at the office, we picked up the check | A chain of gold, a stab in the back | The old men went home, silent and bowed | And the young men went drinking, drowning it out”

51st State – Great Britain’s anti-american anthem:

 “Yeah tip your hat to the Yankee conquerors | We’ve got no reds under the bed | We’ve guns under our pillows”

“Here in the land of opportunities, hah | Oh watch us revel in our liberty | Well you can say what you like, but it doesn’t change anything | Cause the corridors of power, they’re an ocean away”

All of This – Western foreign policy rant:

 “Frustrated and impatient and intelligent sharp and twisted like a child | Death is an aphrodisiac now | There’s fuses on the table slowly wired”

 “Soldiers out at the discoteque pick up a girl and drink to home afar | Spending money like water on the watered drinks available at the bar | The ones who never were given much never asked much of anything in recall | But there’s a black bag in the corner and it doesn’t bel0ng to anyone here at all”

“In the name of the people, all of this done | In the name of the people”

Western Dream – i.e. the american dream, uh, is a dream, but media is gonna shove it down your throat:

“Gather round and listen and I’ll tell you how it’s done | How they managed to make idiots out of everyone | Take a human population with their hunger and their pain, and the weaknesses that cripple them again and again”

“All lies all lies all schemes all schemes | Every one of you is a loser in the western dream” 

Ballad – Most depressing “we fucked up the world” song EVAR, complete with sad harmonica:

“When they look back at us and they write down their history | What will they say about our generation | We’re the ones who knew everything | Still we did nothing | Harvested everything | Planted nothing”

“Floating in comfort on waves of our apathy | Quietly gnawing away at our body | Till we mortgaged the future | Buried our children”

“Well I stand on this hill | And I watch her at night | A thousand square miles and a million orange lights | Wounded and scarred she lies silent in pain | Raped and betrayed in the cold acid rain”

“Not foolish and brave, these leaders of ours | Just stupid and petty, unworthy of power | Just a little leak here, and a small error there | Another square mile, poisoned forever”

Master Race

“And the opposition, well we ain’t doing so well | Our understanding is weak here, and  knowledge is small | Though the kids scrawl frustration on a backstreet wall | Well most of them can’t even spell ‘bastard'”

  

 Ouch.  Ouch ouch ouch.  Sometimes, it’s hard to listen to this album. 

So where am I going with this?

I listen to this album still.  And I enjoy it, for the memories, and the emotion, but so many of these songs just don’t ring true for me anymore.  And that makes me glad…nay, grateful.  Thankful.  To be  perfectly honest, I really must give some of the credit to our newly elected president for laying much of those feelings to rest.  Not that last year I was all RAWR I HATE MY COUNTRY, but it sure was painful to watch the things that were happening.  They’re still happening, it’s true, but there’s a pervading sense of hope now. 

Thank you, my country.  I’ve always loved you.  But as Michelle Obama said, I’m once again proud to be an American.

Oh how I love thee, let me count the ways…

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I’m in love.

I’ve been in love for years and years.  Totally, madly, head over heels in love.

With Oregon.  

And my love, my dearest most precious state, she turns 150 years old.  On Valentine’s Day!

So I’ll be counting the ways I love Oregon, all 150 years of her, on February 14th.   Won’t you join me?

Maybe I’ll embrace The Cloud. Maybe.

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Remember The Cloud post?  From last week?  Well, a friend of mine sent me a link to this article that totally hit the nail on the head.  Except, well, it was the opposite nail. 

See, I was slowly descending into this state of panic.  Panic brain was sending me visions of myself, a drooling, brainless idiot, useless without my interwebs connection.  But perhaps, if you believe the claims in that article, perhaps I’ve just found a bigger storage system?

I dunno.  I’m not sure I want to be dependent on a solid wifi signal.  But boy, am I brilliant when I do have one.

I lost my brain in The Cloud

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I have outsourced entire chunks of my brain to the Cloud.

I’m not exactly sure how that happened.

I mean, I used to know lots of stuff. Lots. I used to be a walking dictionary of Roman, Greek and a touch of Norse mythology. I once won a Trivial Pursuit game because I knew what Hadrian’s Wall was, at the age of 12. I knew the entire geneology of 80’s pop/alternative/new wave music. (Yeah, I’ll CLAIM THAT SUCKA!) I could’ve taught classes on the impressionist and dada art movement. I wanted to be an aerospace engineer, or at least a physicist.

Ok whoa. This was not intended to be a ‘look at all the stuff I know, I’m so smart.’ I mean, I am, and I do…or at least I did…know lotsa stuff. But not anymore. Because, you see, I’ve outsourced.

Perhaps I just reached a critical mass of information, and I needed to let some stuff go. Perhaps I’m getting more selective about the stuff I keep in my head. No, it’s not because I’m getting old. No way. Nuh uh.

Although, now I realize what older folks mean when they tell those young’uns “I’ve forgotten more stuff then you’ve ever known!”.

Whatever the reason, the effect is a bit disturbing, and usually the same. Someone will ask, or the situation will call for, some random/obscure/cool/pertinent piece of data/trivia/factoid. And my brain will go “ZOMG I KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT !!!!!” And will then proceed to flip through my (extremely scattered) Intellect-O-Matic filing system, only to find that instead of the little tidbit of data/triva/factoid, there’s a sign.

That sign says:

“OUTSOURCED TO TEH INTERWEBS”

Crap. Fortunately, I have an iPhone, which means I have surgically implanted my phone into my hand or pocket at any given moment. But what happens if I leave my phone at home? (ok haha, that was a joke.) But really, what if I lose it? Or, I have no service? Or…armeggedon? How will I entertain, amuse, enlighten and educate my friends and aquaintances should the apocolypse arrive?

You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?

Are we becoming too reliant on the internet for information? Where, and more importantly, how do you draw the line? Is there a limit to how much information one brain can hold?

I tend to think there isn’t. Or at least, I think I’m not living up to my potential. (Oh, how often I’ve heard those words growing up.)

So I’m thinking of declaring war on Wikipedia. Rejecting Roget’s. I think I will attempt to relegate them to a more appropriate place in my data aquisition model.

But first, I just have to figure out how. And if I should.

I can haz grace!

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Hallo interwebs!  A little Morgan history:

I once tripped over the same spot in the sidewalk three times in a row.  And by once, I mean last week.  And when I say in a row, I mean I went to get coffee, trip.  Came back from coffee, trip.  Stopped, walked back to see what I tripped on, trip. 

Apparently I am not the most graceful person out there.  Everyone seems to have this opinion of me; my friends, my coworkers…even my mother.  I was actually forbidden from using knives for a while when I was younger, since I seemed to cut myself so often.  I still have scars from some of those incidents.  She’d always yell at me for flipping things.  Cans of vegetables.  Sticks.  Frying pans.  Crepes. (Although I firmly believe you’re supposed to flip those.)  Rocks.  My brother.  (oh, that’s ‘trip’ not ‘flip’ on that last one, sorry.)  She’d yell at me, claiming that it was just a matter of time before I dropped it, and crack! would go one of the ceramic kitchen tiles, and I’d be in TROUBLE!  Because, you see, I’m clumsy.  She’d say.

I think it’s a vicious lie, however. 

No kitchen tiles ever broke to my knowledge.  Those were some strong, hefty tiles!

So in order to quell this rising tide of bad publicity, a few years ago I decided to silence my detractors once and for all. 

Yep, I was going to teach myself to juggle.  Because really, that’s sort of what I was getting at, with all that flipping anyway, right?

And damnit, I did it.  I can juggle, three balls, pretty decently, for a few mins at a time, if I’m practicing.  Without droppage, much to my dog’s dismay.  (She thinks it’s some kind of cruel canine torture.)  I even went and bought myself some NICE juggling balls, that come in a fancy box.

And then I tried pins.  And those were awesomely fun.  And I even juggled with someone else, once, and we actually managed a transfer.  Once.

Then I tried rings.  Those are kinda hard.  Still haven’t gotten those down.

And THEN, because I grew up in the 80’s and watched Labyrinth five BEEELION times, I tried contact juggling.  And while I’m not ready to, you know, break it out at parties, I will say my skills are much better than when I first bought my clear acrylic ball.  Which is now scratched up beyond belief.

So now I think of myself as a juggler.  I’m really bad compared to Cirque du Soleil.  But next to my dog, I’m a wizard.  I realize that’s a pretty wide range there, but suffice that I’m in there somewhere, and not at the very bottom.

Imagine my glee, then, when I make the aquantance of one @lawduck via Twitter, and we’re gonna have a Camp. Because that’s what you do in Portland, you find a couple people who like something, and decide to host a Camp about it so you can share it with everyone else.

This is gonna be a CircusCamp. Wherein, I’m guessing, there will be juggling. And juggling lessons. And other circusy-type stuff.  Perhaps bears.  Juggling bears.  And fire eaters! 

<gasp>

Fire juggling!  <my inner pyromaniac is twitching>

Ok maybe not.  But maybe! 

So.  If you’d like to help create this CircusCamp thing, ping @lawduck, or me (@morganpdx), or @dietrich. 

And then start looking for some really kickass juggling balls.

End Wordiness!

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I had an epiphany today about my blog.  A blog-iphany.  I realized something amazing.

My blog posts don’t need to be three pages long!!!!

Whoa.  Really?  You mean, I can haz short blog posts?  Short and sweet?  To the point? (yeah, right.  Don’t hold your breath on that one.)

Oh My.  Yes.

So along the lines of End Bloglessness a few weeks ago and End Joblessness tomorrow (you should go!  GO!!!  What are you waiting for?  Go.), I hereby will End Wordiness.  Or at least, excessive, unnecessarily long blog posts with numerous topics all jumbled together just for the sake of making my posts long.  How dumb was that?  Shyeah.  Silly me.  I really was relying on all y’all to, you know, “guide” me along my little blog journey, keep me from going astray.  Frankly I think you guys let me down on this one, but no worries.  No harm no foul.  You had to read ’em, right?  Right.

This doesn’t mean that I won’t be going all left field rants on you when the mood strikes.  But the house cleaning posts, not necessary.  Unless it’s about, well, house cleaning.  Or if it’s just a whole bunch of little related stuff.

Anyway.  Here’s a sample of what my shorter blog posts might look like, in the future:

I know what Skype is. But it still doesn't sound like a nice thing to do to your friends and family.

I know what Skype is. But it still doesn't sound like a nice thing to do to your friends and family.

So there’s a charity wedding gown event at the hotel near where I work, in case anyone is interested.  And you can Skype your matrimonial finds to your friends and family, because you know any person buying a wedding gown clearly cannot make a decision on her (or his) own.  Clearly.  Anyone who doesn’t consult every last friend and relative is an alien, or a sociapath.  So please, skype that sequined, brocaded, appliqued satin/chenille/tulle gown.

Of politicos and prose

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What a week this has been.

I mean seriously, people.  Half the country will remember where they were yesterday for the rest of their lives, for starters.  For me, this week has been…Momentous.  Thrilling.  Moving.  Confusing.  Thought provoking.  Surprising.

So how many blog posts have you seen about the Inauguration?  I know, me too.  Tons.  And I kinda didn’t want to just add to the Obama mania noise with my piddly two cents.  So this is just an amalgamation of a couple things swirling around my head, including (I mean really, come on, I have to say something, right?) my little Obama plug.  Call it another house cleaning post.

 

So without furthur ado…OBAMA!

That's my president. Isn't he shiny and new?

That's my president. Isn't he shiny and new?

I recorded the exact moment in his speech where I lost it.  It was right about 10 minutes, 17 or so seconds into it:

“…to all other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and we are ready to lead once more. ”

…and queue tears. 

TIKVA. 

I’m resolving to get my carpentry on for Habitat for Humanity this year.  That’s what I’m doing, for starters.  What about you?

Also, check out my buddy @dieselboi’s post on OurPDX.  He was THERE. And he has PICTURES!

 

Et Tu, Sam?

Sam. We're all disappointed.

Sam. We're all disappointed.

What the hell??  My twitter/FB community has been, well, a-twitter with the news of Sam Adams’ announcement, and the repurcussions.  So he slept with an 18 year old intern.  Big deal!!  (as long as he was, in fact, 18.)  He should not have lied about it.  Especially when he was asked directly.  He could have skirted the truth, but no, he flat out lied.  And asked Beau Breedlove (yeah, what a name, huh?) to lie about it as well.  Which says clearly, I’m afraid that people will use this against me because I’m gay.  So I’m gonna hide my gay (legal) indiscretions.  Sure, it may not demonstrate the best judgment in your personal life, but it’s your personal life.  Your record of service speaks for itself.  If you’re gonna be our out and proud mayor, Sam, be out and proud.  You broke no law.  But now, the city is clamoring for you to step down, because they feel betrayed.  I personally don’t think so you should step down, despite my disappointment. I think the city would be best served by you staying in office, especially now that you will do your damnedest to improve your reputation. 

Some fellow bloggers who feel the same:

–http://develonizer.com/?p=1663
–http://catherder.wordpress.com/2009/01/21/why-sam-adams-should-not-resign-as-mayor-of-portland/
–http://inyourwater.wordpress.com/2009/01/21/leave-sam-adams-a-lone/

 

Nao fala portuguese!

I’ve been reminded just how much I love Portuguese.  Such a beautiful language.  I remember the first time I heard it.  I was at a friends house, and she was playing some music.  It was in a language that at first, I thought was French.  But soon realized it couldn’t be French, since I couldn’t make out a single word.  Spanish then?  No, again, don’t recognize any words as Spanish.  Yet I felt so sure that I should be able to understand what they were saying, it sounded so…familiar.  Thus began my love of the Portuguese language.  Mostly the Brazilian flavor.  

I was also introduced to Fernando Pessoa, a Portuguese poet.  And I heard beautiful words, placed in such a way as to make my heart hum in rhythm with the sounds.  Pitter pat, pitter pat:

If I could tell the future and if I knew all secrets,
and if I had all knowledge,
and if I had enough faith to move mountains,
but if I didn’t have love,
I would be nothing.

Eu tenho saudade.

I think I need to do something with those lines.  Like, something that will go on my walls.  I know, I’ll paint them, right on my wall.  In big fancy letters.  Big swirly fancy letters, that go across my walls.  So I can be reminded every day of the essence of my heart. 

See #7 for the reason why.

 

Ok, so maybe working here ain’t so bad after all.

I did a really hard thing.  I told people that I had made something of a commitment to, that well, it doesn’t seem to be working out.  It was a possible break up, and I was interested in someone else.  Or at least, something else.  I had to do it several times.  No one freaked, and I didn’t get fired.  Everyone was supportive, and understanding.  It was not painless (I do develop loyalties tres quickly.  Tres.), but they were at least conversations I could walk away from with my head held high, and no hard feelings, and mutual positive spin.  And it wasn’t even really spin, really.  I learned a lot.  No really, my brain is full of stuff, and I’ll take that with me, and be better for it.  But I have to follow my passion.  And even better, I was told I *could* go back, if I wanted to.

I can be a total geek at work again.  Joy!  Yeah yeah all you open source peeps out there, it’s .NET.  Yes, there is a bajillion hoops, some of them on fire, and politics and crap.  But I understand it.  I’ve maneuvered those roads, they’re familiar, and now that time has passed, they don’t seem so bad, in exchange for being able to be a code monkey again, and get PAID for it.

I haven’t decided for sure that I’m going back yet.  But I can, if I want to, and everyone knows I’m thinking about it, and it didn’t hurt (much) to tell everyone. 

I can even – maybe – be agile again.

Crabs are Friends, Not Food.

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I totally had an awesome picture for this post, but then my iPhone crashed and I lost it.  Fiddlesticks.

A couple weeks ago, I walked from my house to the Bipartisan Cafe.  It’s a cozy little coffeeshop over on SE Stark and 79th, with great pie, minimal discernible ‘tude, Norman Rockwells on the wall and an inauguration day countdown on the door.

But that’s not what I want to talk about.

What I want to talk about, is crabs.  Those shuffly side-scootin pinchy little carrion-eaters of the deep.  Perhaps the mice to PETA’s sea kittens?

Side note:  Speaking of sea kittens…Did you see the recent Colbert Report where he says if fish are sea kittens, that means he gets to start eating Land Fish.  Yummy land fish!  Mmmm….

Lots of people I know like crab, to varying degree.  Crab cakes, crab dip, king crab, baked alaska…oh wait.  Baked alaska isn’t crab, is it.  Sounds crabby though, doesn’t it?

I don’t like crab.  Not really a big crab fan.  I just don’t find insectoid beings particularly appetizing.  I’ve dissected large insects, and that’s what I think of when it comes to crabs.  And lobsters too, but I’ve never killed a lobster.

I have killed a crab.  And it was GRUESOME.

I mean seriously, what the heck is wrong with me?  I ended up with a life-changing moral crisis after deep sea fishing in Mexico, so I no longer can really bring myself to go fishing.  And I liked to go fishing.  But the crab incident, while not as impactful as the Bahia de Banderas affair, also sticks in my mind.

So as I said before, walking through a sunny SE neighborhood on my way to Bipartisan Cafe, I come across a notice of a Crab Feed at the Ascension Catholic Church.

I assume when most people see something like that, they think of buttery crab legs and nutcrackers and stuff.

I, however, am graced with an image of my first and last experience going crabbing, and killing a crab.

We brought in a pretty good haul, about 8-10 or so that day, and this was a week long trip up to Blaine, Washington with the ex’s family.  The killing happened thus:  Take crab from large container.  Place crab on sheet of plywood on ground, on its back.  Place piece of broom handle along crabs chest, parallel to legs.  Press down until it cracks.  Simple, right?  Yep simple.  Except for the screaming, and the flailing of legs, trying to grasp the broom handle.  Did I mention the screaming?  Did you know crabs scream?  Yeah.  Not so fun.

I guess it all boils down to this for me:  If I’m going to kill something with the intention of eating it, there needs to be two requirements met.  First, I have to NEED the food.  As in, there’s no store for miles, I have no food, and if I don’t kill this animal, I may starve.  SECOND, I have to be prepared to actually EAT what I kill.  As in, I will eat this creature, and I either like the taste, or don’t care (see requirement #1).

And with that, I’m off to go have a Mcmenamin’s burger.  Yummy.  Perhaps I’ll get the Land Fish special?

Sept Choses

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aka Seven Things.  aka Confess!

1. I’m a card carrying SCA fighter.  I haven’t fought in about a year, but I have every intention of returning this spring. 

(Wearing armour in the cold and wet sucks.  What sucks even more is wearing armour in the cold and wet, and then getting beaten with sticks.) 

I have a full set of armour, much of which I made myself.  Thanks to that experience, I now have the skills required to  build armour, including basic metalsmithing, basic to advanced leatherworking, and expert chain maille.  Ergo, I am a total geek with a very high pain tolerance, a knack for tools, and a penchant for beating grown men and woman about the head and body with sticks, and a tendency to occasionally dress in funny clothes (some of which I also made myself).  Fear me.

2. I am a pyromaniac.  When I was a kid, I built a fire on my front steps out of newspaper, took a disposable camera (they were the latest thing!), stuck my hand in the fire and took a picture.  I never did develop that film, but I really really wish I had.  Heck, I might try it again someday. 

3.  I’m convinced that I will die in a car accident.  I’m hoping that the fact that I *am* convinced of that, will cause me to be more cautious.  So far so good.  *knock on fake wood laminate*

4. I’m not sure this one counts, because it’s not something I did, but I didn’t really see any rules.  And I just have to get this out – I’ve never told anyone this.  A friend of mine, who I used to hang out with a lot years ago but have since lost touch with, had a cat.  A calico cat named Q.  She was cute, and young.  And unfixed.  Sooo, my friend, who was living on very meager means at the time, couldn’t afford to have her fixed.  And then cute little Q went into heat.  My friend was working hard at home on her career as a fashion designer, and got so frustrated with Q’s incessant yowling that she one day took a Q-tip to Q.  Yep, you got it…she fucked her cat Q with a Q-tip.  Apparently it worked though, Q was…satisfied.

5. I watched the very first video on MTV.  I know lots of people who *know* that Video Killed the Radio Star was the first video, but I don’t know a lot of people who watched MTV go on the air.  It’s kind of a cool memory to have. 

6. I used to be fluent in French.  It was a pretty weird feeling when I realized it.  I was walking down the street, just thinking about the stuff I had to do, and people I needed to talk to, so in my head was “Blah blah blah blah blah”  Except I realized, mid street crossing!, that what I was actually thinking was “ze Blah ze blah ze blah ze blah ze blah mais oui!  Zut alor!”!  Have you ever thought in a foreign language without realizing it, and then realize it?  Weird.  It’s long gone, of course, since I quit using it as my relatives learned English/passed away, but those synapse highways are pretty fused.  The cool thing is that I realized not only could I pick up French again pretty quick if I needed to, I could probably do Spanish pretty darn quick too.  But what I really want to learn is Portuguese, so I can talk about saudade.  There’s no real english translation, but I am intimately familiar with the feeling.

7. I am a feeling person.  I live in my feelings.  So it should come as no surprise that I am a total romantic, with a streak of realism that’s been beaten into me.  I truly believe in love, in all its forms, and in my opinion it is one of the most important things in the world.  It is human connection.  In my mind, it is the reason we exist; to foster, create and perfect those human connections.  And as love, connection, exists on a human scale, so it exists in others as well.  Love exists in the attraction of planets, and in the attraction of electrons to protons.  It is the compulsion to unite.  But then, my beliefs have been called ‘the science of faith’. And I better quit there before I get all preachy…I have a tendency to do that when I get on this topic.

I knew I should’ve been a physicist.  Damn.  Physics is the branch of science most likely to prove the existence of G-d. 

There.  Thanks @jarvitron for taggin me, and I mean that in the nicest way.  I’ll tag @cecivirtue, @djtv, @metroknow, and @camikaos.

Fish and Joon.

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My netflix queue has about 482 movies in it.

Yes, that is a lot.

Many of the movies are ones I always wanted to see, but never got around to it, or missed it, or whatever. On the list it goes.

I’ve been kinda slacking on my netflix queue, but I remedied that today, and knocked out two of ’em in a single night.

Movie #1: A Fish Called Wanda.
I’m a HUGE Monty Python fan. My friends and I used to watch the shows, record the shows, quote the shows, and generally act with Monty Python tomfoolery on a daily basis. I used to know the entire “Flying Lessons” skit by heart.  (One of my personal favorites) So I remember when this movie came out, and everyone saying how absolutely funny and hilarious is was, and it had John Cleese and Michael Palin, so, win, right?  It even was nominated for a couple Oscars.

Meh. It had some funny moments, to be sure, but it just didn’t catch me. Wasn’t funny enough to hold my attention.  Perhaps my taste in comedies runs a little to the east or west of this one.  I certainly have busted a gut laughing at Monty Python, both the show and the movies.  Not that I’m claiming that every movie associated with Cleese et al is copied out of the Monty Python joke book, but chances are that if they were involved, I’d like it. 

 

Movie #2: Benny and Joon
I knew I’d like this movie the second it started with the Proclaimers song “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)”. That song always makes me smile. Plus hello, Johnny Depp AND Julianne Moore? I can’t help myself, I love movies like this. It’s the romantic in me, what can I say.  So, great music:  “Can’t Find My Way Home” is one of my all time faves, although I prefer the Swans version to Joe Cocker.  He always kinda freaked me out, frankly.  Classic boy meets girl, must overcome obstacles to be together story with a mental illness twist.  I especially like the fact that the person with the mental illness is never someone you think of as ‘disabled’. 

I can totally relate to Sam. In more ways than I care to admit.

I think I want to take up painting. Seriously. And hey, maybe I’ll watch a couple of old Buster Keaton films while I’m at it.