I’m at the 30,000 word mark and I’ve discovered that writing stories makes you a little mental.

On a good day of writing, my 2000 word minimum comes easy as though the words were being dictated by the people in the story and I was just the recording secretary.

I love these days.

The bad days definitely feel like me doing the work. Each word comes as though I were pulling it out of thick mud, or excavating it out of a diamond with nothing but a sharp stick and willpower.

Over the last few days I have abandoned all sense of pride and started arguing with the characters:

Me: C’mon…I can’t write this by myself! I don’t even know what happens!

Them: Why should we do all the work? You showed up late today and completely neglected us last Friday.

Me: But, the kid upstairs used the sprinkler to water my bedroom though the open window. I can’t be held responsible for that little devil spawn’s actions!

Them: Whatever lady – but hey, good luck and stuff.

So, I’ve spent the last few days feeling like I watched most of the finale of the most awesome show that ever was, only to miss the last 15 minutes because the cable cut out.

And worse, my characters are all wandering around with superior smirks on their faces because they know how it ended.

Jerks.

Rare are the days I can walk by one and not go in. Even rarer are the times when I go in and come out empty-handed.

I went into Chapters today with my friends Emily and Beau and within less than five minutes, I’d found a book: At Large and at Small – Confessions of a Literary Hedonist by Anne Fadiman (along with three other books, because I really am very weak-willed in bookstores).

Anne Fadiman is the sole reason I enjoy reading essays. After years of being forced to write essays in high school and university  – writing that seemed to involve sucking the life and joy out of every word ever printed – I was finished with essays. Then I stumbled onto Ex Libris – Confessions of a Common Reader also by Anne Fadiman and what a gem that book is! My copy is a paperback with a pale green cover and contains some of the most entertaining essays about being a book lover I’ve ever read.

That little green book hooked me and suddenly essays were not life-sucking, paper-wasting pieces of boredom; they were interesting, well-written comments on something I truly love: books!

So you can imagine how eager I was to dive into the new find.

After saying goodbye to Emily and Beau I took out my newest treasure and began to read at the bus stop.

Now, I can read anywhere (and frequently do) so I’ve got the skills to read and enjoy a book while being aware enough of the world around me to still catch a bus. I got on the #10, which was unusually crowded, and managed to find as seat at the very back. I sat and opened my book.

Normally, I’d pick up where I left off and the rest of the world would cease to exist. Today, I found it hard.

The guy one seat over to my left had the most piercing nose-whistle I’ve ever heard. The guy to my right was blathering on about the colour blue to the guy next to him at top volume. The bus’s brakes were in desperate need of some kind of tuning given the high-pitched screams of protest they made every time the bus came to a stop. Another woman was digging her in over-sized purse for a phone that was shrieking out Katy Perry’s I Kissed a Girl at a very loud volume (who knew faux alligator skin was such a poor sound barrier) not to mention the various kinds of music leaking out of people’s headphones.

It was nearly too much to tune out. I am not good at meditation – largely because I’ve only ever tried a handful of times and taming the monkey-mind is not going to happen overnight – so drowning out the people on the bus, and the surrounding traffic was not going well today. My immediate feeling towards all these noises (and their creators) was one of pure resentment.

I know the whole world can’t suddenly turn down the volume because I want to read – but that doesn’t stop me from wanting it. This resentment towards the noisy world coming between me and my books goes back a long way.

As a kid I remember not being able to find a lot of time to read quietly – there were always interruptions. Most of these interruptions came in the form of my mother’s voice: “What are you doing inside? It’s a beautiful day, go outside and play.”

You want to see resentment? Separate a kid from her book all in the name of “playing outside”. Anyone who really loves to read will fully understand my sulky replies, the irritated tone of voice and even the backchat that was usually some form of, “Why don’t YOU go outside and play and leave me alone?”

I still can’t understand how parents can desperately want their kids to be readers and yet cannot, absolutely cannot, leave their children alone when they DO finally pick up a book and get absorbed in it. The moment the outside world disappears for a reading child is exactly the moment parents start in on all the apparent virtues of being outside (though, even if the kid does go out, heaven forbid you come back dirty with tears in your clothes and scraped up knees!).

Anyway, after many, many repetitions of this, I got smart. I took a small bag (a red canvas child’s purse with a picture of Snoopy on it), packed a couple of books, some stolen cookies, and a juice box and hightailed it through the woods behind my aunt and uncle’s place directly to the local graveyard. Once there, I found a great and shady spot behind the mausoleum, sprawled out in the grass, and read to my heart’s content.

I can’t remember the name of the family buried there, but I hope they didn’t mind me borrowing a little shade while I read The Secret Garden or The Stand and ate some Oreos. The graveyard is maybe an odd place to find such happiness but it was well chosen. It was close enough to the house that I could get back fairly quickly, but far enough away that if Mum stood on the back step and yelled for me I’d be able to honestly say I hadn’t heard her calling.

I wasn’t an awful child, just determined to pursue my passion without all the commentary – and children need privacy and freedom the same as adults.

In the winter, I lived at the library (usually on weekends) and the librarian, Annie, was always glad to let me take a chair out of the way and read whatever I liked. I also read under the covers with a flashlight, I would read standing around in my room while listening for any sign of a parent (and stuff the book under the pillow and say I was cleaning up when caught), I read in the bathroom, on the bus, at recess, in class (when I could get away with it), on class trips including the over-night trip to Camp Sylvan and once even at a particularly bad company summer picnic.

Romeo and Juliet’s doomed romance was far more interesting than getting a loaf of bread from the freezer, or cleaning my room. Reading about the survivors of “Captain Trips” in The Stand (and my secret conviction that I would have been a survivor too) was much more entertaining than doing the dishes.

Even today, I still feel that same resentment at being pulled from whatever world I was inhabiting. Of course, the good thing about being an adult is that no one ever tells me to go outside and play if I’d rather read. Nor am I frequently interrupted to fetch things or clean my room and best of all – I don’t have to hide out in the graveyard with contraband cookies.

I sometimes think I should open up a reading lounge. People would come in with a book and sprawl out on a plush and comfortable rug or chair and then just zone out and read. No laptops, all cell phones on vibrate, no chatterboxes yapping about the colour blue – just some unobtrusive music and the sound of pages being turned.

How peaceful that would be!

I hear my own reading lounge calling to me; my very comfortable couch where I will read without further interruptions.

As a recap, Ms. Knight is miffed that TransLink did not run transit later than usual on Halloween night while she and her “posse” were out “getting their drink on”. Apparently sobering up in the wee hours of a cold November morning while dressed in a slutty, cold-weather-inappropriate costume kind of sucks.

Ms. Knight also complains that TransLink is more concerned with impressing visitors for the Olympics than its own citizens (and unfortunately, that’s probably true) and that McDonald’s has more sense because they stay open late to take advantage of all the drunk people with the munchies.

I don’t disagree with the assertion that public transit should be available late at night for people too inebriated to drive – that’s one of the great things about public transit – but how late is late enough?

Vancouver, a city that tags itself as “world class” (and don’t get me started on that misnomer), has transit that stops running pretty early considering how late the night life in downtown Vancouver runs. Any city that is truly “world class” (I’m looking at you Berlin) has a 24-hour transit system in place – or at least one that runs until 2 or 3 a.m.

And let’s face it; a cab ride from downtown Vancouver to say Burnaby, Surrey or Port Coquitlam etc. can get pretty expensive – and that assumes you can find a cab driver who will take you anywhere if you’re drunk. Most cabbies, quite reasonably, don’t want drunk people in their car.

That being said, TransLink’s operating hours are not exactly a secret. TransLink didn’t just spring this on an unsuspecting public for Halloween – the hours are clearly posted on their website along with maps of every route and time tables for every single stop. Their website isn’t easy to navigate (the maps are hard to get to), but the information is there.

Perhaps the reason TransLink doesn’t run later isn’t just that they don’t care about the citizens of Vancouver, or that they are financially constrained but, perhaps they don’t wish to be perceived as supporting “getting your drink on” at clubs. I bet they also don’t want to clean up the resulting mess of a bunch of drunks with food from those captains of industry at McDonald’s off the bus seats and floors.

Another good reason for transit not to run late: TransLink performs maintenance on buses and train lines at night to ensure that everyone gets a safe ride during their hours of operation. It seems TransLink is damned if they do and damned if they don’t. Terminate service at 1 a.m. – people complain. Run transit 24-hours and do the bare minimum for maintenance and repairs – people would complain.

Knowing that Ms. Knight, perhaps you should have planned your night out a little better. And that goes for the “other 200 people” you mentioned and the “hundreds of people trapped downtown” every Friday and Saturday night. You could have done any of the following before headed out dressed as a “slutty version” of anything:

• Rent a hotel room together.
• Share a cab to the closest house and crash.
• Plan your time accordingly and make sure you’re on the last bus home.

These ideas are not beyond your intelligence.

Just for the record, I find it very hard to believe that the same people get “trapped” downtown every weekend. Is their ability to remember when the buses stop running hampered by the amount of alcohol they consume? I could see that happening once or twice, but every weekend? Give me a break – if that’s really the case, then those hundreds of people are morons who drink too much.

I suppose your next argument would be cash flow – but, if you can afford to pay cover charges at clubs and pay more to get drunk at said clubs; you can afford to share the cost of a hotel room or a cab.

Your “bleary eyed $2.50” is hardly an inducement for incurring the extra expense of running transit an hour later.

I’ve seen drunken people on transit here – it’s not pretty: loud, obnoxious, reeking of booze (and, in one case, urine) and a river of vomit under the seats. I sure didn’t envy the poor driver who had to hose down and disinfect the bus that night. I wonder if he appreciated those party-goers $2.50?

Your right to pass out on the bus, be a drunken nuisance, or throw up on yourself does not trump TransLink’s policy of providing their employees with a safe and puke-free environment in which to work.

Ms. Knight, as the Events and Student Life Director for the Kwantlen Student Association, couldn’t you find something more important and pressing to write about? This article – written in association with your position at Kwantlen, gives the impression that being inebriated and unable to get home is part of the routine for Kwantlen students. Also, as someone who is in charge of events and student life, you do a poor job of planning your own events and life if you can’t manage to catch a bus out of downtown by 1 a.m.

I’m even more surprised that the Chair and Director of Academic Affairs thinks this is an appropriate story to have associated with Kwantlen.

How would you feel about a $2.50 donation towards finding something resembling journalism at Kwantlen?

Spastic Things I Did This Weekend:

1. Burned my finger on the side of the slow cooker.

The Universe was warning me, but I very foolishly ignored it – a few hours later, I did the following:

2. Spilled the contents of a fresh and full glass of iced tea directly into the vent of my new PC.

This is what happens when you play World of Warcraft on your weeks old PC and get too excited. I gestured wildly at another player, who cannot see or hear the real me, because he had the effrontery to ride his gargantuan dinosaur into Undercity and cut off my view such that I fell off a staircase. This gesture connected solidly with a full glass of iced tea and sent it pouring directly into the air vent of my new PC.

I pushed my chair back, swore impressively, and threw myself at the PC (smartly tipping it to the side to avoid more iced tea getting in) while madly unplugging it.

Joe and I blotted the video card dry, dried the inside of the casing and the fans and decided to let it take some air for awhile.

3. Covered my feet in shattered glass.

After we’d mopped up most of the iced tea we remembered that the table I use as a desk has a leaf that would extend directly over the PC; thus protecting it from future acts of stupidity. In order to extend the leaf we needed an inch more of space to move it forward and then up and back into place.

The bookcase next to the table was blocking us a bit, so I decided to wiggle it forward by degrees. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to check for objects that might fall on my head.

A small glass candle holder that we kept our Bic lighters in (the cool ones with long stem thingies so you don’t set your hands on fire lighting tea lights) fell from the shelf mid-wiggle, bounced off my shoulder, and smashed rather spectacularly all over the tile floor.

At this point, I am standing directly in a puddle of shattered glass and iced tea that we missed in the initial cleanup; plus completely soaked pants, shirt and sweater (from the iced tea mishap).

I decided pretty quickly that whole situation was actually pretty funny and laughed my fool head off while Joe rolled his eyes and got the broom.

I have never, ever, spilled anything on any computer ever. What better way to remedy that than to spill an entire glass of iced tea into my first ever new PC.

Lucky for me, the PC dried OK and everything still works fine.

I found the last of the glass slivers this evening several feet away from the crash site and got to it before I stepped on it. I also had a very good day at work.

I might be the Universe’s bitch, but sometimes, she throws some good luck my way.

I still have no idea what to write.

What stories can I tell about George Clements that will convey a clear and accurate picture of him?

There are the obvious things: he was an incredibly talented stone mason, he had a wonderfully dry sense of humour, he could be quite a stubborn smarty pants, he was generous, kind, handsome, a great whistler and stone skipper, built the best fires ever and grilled a mean hamburger.

He also taught me that no one is going to just let me win, I’d have to earn it (playing Battleship with Grandad was a sure-fire way to prove that however clever you thought you were – he’s far more clever). I learned that listening is a lot more useful than talking, paying good money for good things is smarter than paying a little money for cheap garbage and that honour and manners still matter.

But none of these things really convey the whole picture either.

Maybe it’s enough that I have the good fortune to be his granddaughter. You don’t get to choose your family, but I would have chosen him had I not been born to the right family.

I’m looking at a great picture of Grandad on the beach: he is looking up, eyes narrowed a little against the sun, just beginning to smile up at my aunt (and what you can’t see is the rusty little dinky car he’d found and offered her) with the waves just coming in on the shoreline.

That picture is my Grandad – it’s the perfect picture – relaxed, happy and just wandering along the shore of the beach looking for interesting things.

If there is a heaven, I hope that’s what he’s doing now.

For me at least, there is no goodbye, because I’ll always remember and I like to think I’ve learned enough from him to carry it with me into the world.

Are all of these words inadequate? You bet they are – but I’m not sure what else to say.

• We’re celebrating a martyred priest, a dead bishop and a guy martyred in Africa (all on February 14).
• We’re celebrating the martyred priest only (beaten, stoned and beheaded for refusing to renounce his faith).
• We celebrate the St. Valentine who was apparently so heartbroken after getting dumped by his mistress, he cut his own heart out and sent it to her.
• We’re celebrating the wrong St. Valentine altogether (there are five others which are not commonly celebrated).

Of course, most of us celebrate Valentine’s Day the way they did in Geoffrey Chaucer’s time when courtly love was as its peak – a day of romantic love, poetry, expensive gifts and possibly wedding proposals; not that I can find anything romantic about self-mutilation, stonings, beatings and beheadings.

If nothing else, our modern way of celebrating St. Valentine’s Day gives everyone at least one day of the year to feel special, loved and appreciated by their partners.

Yet, every year I feel slightly nauseated at the sight of the shiny red hearts and cute, plush kissy-face critters on sale at the local Hallmark stores. I am annoyed by the number of signs implying that if don’t buy Joe something really amazing, then there is a chance he’ll think I don’t care.

Thank goodness Joe dislikes Valentine’s Day more than I do!

We do exchange cards and sometimes I even get him gummy bears – but that’s it. No fancy dinner out, no diamond ring in the champagne or other Grand Gesture. Nothing that distinguishes this day as more important than any other in our relationship.

We tend to pick out little gifts all year long; a book, candy, a video game or silly card. We show our appreciation for each other everyday. Small gestures like a genuine “I love you” or taking care of a chore the other despises so the other one can play a video game instead. Those small things add up throughout the year so that Valentine’s Day has become just another scheme to make me part ways with extravagant amounts of money on cutesy stuff that will end up on a donation pile within six months (or less).

I never thought that cynicism could be born out of feeling incredibly lucky – but there it is: I’m incredibly lucky to have someone who shows his feelings for me everyday without all the fanfare and soppy drivel that usually accompanies Valentine’s Day.

Happy Wednesday Joe – I love you.

To recap that post: The article talks about the joys of free-wheeling sex with no need for condoms since a guy who’s had a vasectomy can’t get anyone pregnant. The article then goes on to give details of a couple of schmucks who think women are essentially crazy bitches who want nothing more than to oops an unwilling guy into fatherhood.

My response was that the writer of the article was irresponsible for failing to mention that vasectomies are pretty damn good at preventing pregnancy, but not STDs. I was also a little horrified that the article seems to support unsafe sex with multiple partners – “swinging from the chandelier sex” – with no mention of ensuring both/all participants safety.

Anyway, since that post went up I’ve had a lot of comments on it (well, for my blog it’s a lot of comments) and as of today that post has been viewed over 800 times.

In the last month, here are the search terms used to find that post (and my comments in italics):

• how old you have to be to get a vasectomy (in Vancouver, most clinics seem to think 30 is a good age)
• lied about vasectomy to be promiscuous (way to spread disease and cause unwanted pregnancies jerk)
• dating a man who’s had a vasectomy (well, you’re unlikely to get pregnant)
• vasectomy std condom
• do you still need to use a condom if you’ve had a vasectomy (you do if you’re worried about STDs)
• pregnant condom vasectomy
• vasectomy for 23 year old (I’d wait a little longer – but that’s just me)
• can a woman become pregnant after her man has had a vasectomy (less than 1% chance)
• should i get a vasectomy (Google is not a Magic 8 Ball – talk to your doctor)

I think what worries me most is that people have the idea that vasectomies put an end to STDs. As though the inability to get a woman pregnant also bestows magical, disease-repelling powers. This is most certainly false.

I’ve noticed too that not one of the search terms used to find that post since it went up in July has had anything about getting tested for STDs. Not one.

If you’re not sure about yourself – get tested. If you’re worried about catching one from your partner, get tested together.

A lot of people will say “But, I’m in a long-term monogamous relationship! I haven’t got a disease – and neither does my Significant Other!”

And if you both came to that relationship as virgins – then yeah, you’re probably safe. But if you didn’t, if you’ve had other partners and had unprotected sex with any of them or had some random one-nighter where you’re not sure if you were safe or not then getting tested is a good way to set your mind at ease.

I figure it’s a way of being respectful of yourself and your partner to say “I’m no angel but I know I want to have something serious with you – so I’m getting tested to make sure nothing I’ve done in my past affects our future together.”

As for screwing around with random people – if that’s your thing then be prepared to be safe about it. Condoms don’t take up a lot of space. Put one in your jacket pocket or your purse – even if you’ve had a vasectomy or have been told that you’re safe because he had a vasectomy.

I probably seem like a pushy bitch when it comes to condom use – but I feel very strongly about it.

I also want to address the most recent comment on the July post from JR.  JR said that condoms “have a failure rate of 10-15%” and that vasectomies only have a “failure rate of 0.1%”.

Let’s get something cleared up about the failure rate of condoms: ‘typical’ use of condoms has a failure rate of  10 to 18%. Typical use means you are NOT using the condoms properly. Perfect use of condoms has a 2% failure rate and coupled with spermicides and other contraceptives that rate falls further.

‘Typical’ use of condoms includes:

• Uncovered contact with your partner before putting on a condom (pre-ejaculate contains sperm!).
• Not rolling the condom down the entire length of the penis.
• Staying inside your partner after ejaculation and allowing the penis to become flaccid.
• Not holding/securing the condom as you pull out of your partner.
• Not washing yourself thoroughly after removing the condom.
• Improper storing of condom (in wallet, direct sunlight etc.).
• Tears in the condom from removing it from the packet (i.e., with teeth, sharp fingernails etc.).
• Using oil-based lubricants with the condom (oil breaks down the latex).
• Using a very old condom (they can dry out and break down even in the packet).
• “double-bagging”  (i.e., using two condoms at the same time) this actually increases the risk of condom failure.

‘Perfect’ use of condoms is making an effort to NOT do the things on the above list – and even then, you have as much as a 2% chance of sex leading to an unplanned pregnancy.

As for vasectomies, JR is correct – there is a less than 1% chance of failure. Though, men must be cautioned that the rates of success do vary slightly depending on the surgical technique used and the surgeon himself.

I think vasectomies are pretty great at preventing pregnancy – it’s the closest you can get to a guarantee aside from abstaining (and what fun would that be?) – but a vasectomy DOES NOT prevent you from giving or receiving sexually transmitted diseases.

So, just to recap: I am NOT against vasectomies. I am against unprotected sex with multiple partners – vasectomy or not! – and I think that Details magazine was remiss in not addressing this in their article.

And JR, if you’re reading this, you should really refrain from identifying with truly “thoughtful and caring” men if you’re going to say women are “dumb” and refer to us as “stupid hormone ravaged PMS’ing c**ts!”

Most people forward these types of emails on out of kindness and concern – and were the missing person real, sending this information out could prove useful. There would be more eyes watching out for the missing child, more people who recognize their face and could help track the child.

It’s easy to be taken in because most people figure “What sort of jerk sends out a fake missing person poster?”

There are ways to tell if you’re being taken in though:

Does the poster contain specific information about the child such as:

• age
• height
• weight
• date and time of disappearance
• clothing the child was last seen in
• location the child was last seen in

Does the poster give legitimate contact information should you spot the missing child? Has there been anything on the news or in the paper? Has an organization such as the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children posted anything regarding the child on their site?

When in doubt, use the search function on Snopes – a great website that collects and dispels stupid hoaxes, urban myths and other types of asshattery.

I think the thing that really annoys me most about these hoaxes is that hoaxes like these make people question legitimate emails and information about those who really are missing. It belittles and diminishes the grief and worry of those who still don’t know where a loved one is – and those people have a legitimate claim to the public’s help.

In short – do a little a research first, if it’s legitimate, then by all means spread the information so help can be given to those who need it.

Ms. Graham extended to me an invitation to become a RESEARCH ANALYST with their “Opinion4cash” research program. All I had to do was cash the $2000.00 National Bank of Canada cheque they included, keep $200.00 of it as my “fee” and send the rest to a fictitious cousin in Manchester, England named Rhonda McTavish through Western Union. I would then fill out some forms rating Western Union’s customer service and voila! An easy $200.00 for about 15 minutes of work.

How gullible do these idiots think people are?

As if I were going to read that and think “Wow! The Essential Research Group must really think I have a lot of integrity! They are trusting me with $2000.00 – and they don’t even know me!”

The worrisome part was how they got my name and address. In the letter they stated: “…your personal information and resume was gathered at random through the Canada job bank and JobCanada with their expressed permission.”

Really? the Canada Job Bank and JobCanada gave you access to my personal information on their government website just so you could share this amazing scam with me?

Doubtful.

I called the Competition Bureau in Quebec – they handle matters of fraud and asshattery in the business world here in Canada. The gentleman I spoke with said this particular scam was a new one for him and could I send them the letter and the cheque. It’s already waiting to be put in tomorrow’s post along with a letter from me.

I am certainly not the first person to receive one of these offers; ripoffreport.com and a somethingawful.com forum member got similar offers – but I wonder how many people report them.

If you get one – report it. At the very least, shred it or burn it.

Pannonica questions whether we, as a society, are capable of going without celebrities and all the attendant coverage and media madness that surrounds them.

Ultimately, she believes the answer is no – and I agree.

I understand why we’re obsessed: they’re beautiful, rich, they get to hang out with other beautiful and rich people. They wear designer clothes, drive expensive cars, live in palatial mansions and receive favours and gifts from people simply by virtue of being in the public eye.

I think we figure it like this: Some celebrities start out just like us – living a normal life, doing normal stuff, wearing clothes from Walmart or Target and then Something Magical happens and they are suddenly living like gods – the world at their feet, everyone wanting to know them, see them, and if at all possible, to BE them. They have everything.

We want some of the Magic too – we want to know how to get there and failing that, watching them do stupid things like get arrested for drunk driving, shaving their heads in a fit of madness and depression, or seeing a photo of them looking frumpy, tired and badly dressed is fair compensation. If we can’t have what they have, we want to see them lose it. Watching famous people mess up or look bad makes us feel better about ourselves. It makes them more human and brings them back down to our level.

What if we simply stopped being interested? What if, as Pan envisioned, we turned on the news and saw coverage of actual news instead of the latest shenanigans on Big Brother or American Idol?

What if we went one step further and deep-sixed our cable TV and picked up a book, or decided to spend more time with the kids instead of the idiot box? What if, at the grocery store we didn’t buy entertainment magazines because we simply didn’t care all that much about Brad and Angelina’s new babies? What if we stopped squeeing over their love lives and screw-ups?

What happens if we stop watching – and thus, supporting -  crap like Big Brother, Blind Date, American Idol, America’s Top Model and all the other tripe that passes as “quality programming”?

It won’t happen of course. It’s far easier to be entertained than to entertain yourself. Simpler to veg out in front of YouTube or the TV and just let the voices and pretty colours wash over you.

Joe and I got rid of our cable over a year ago and it was weird at first. We had so much more time in the evenings. I spend more of it reading now, writing, playing video games and going out with friends, talking to Joe and generally being engaged with the world. We do buy a couple of shows on DVD (House M.D. and Heroes) but if I didn’t get to watch them anymore, I’d be OK with it.

After all, no one on their death-bed says, “I wish I’d watched more TV when I had the chance.” or “Please, God, just one more YouTube video of dancing hamsters and I’ll come quietly.”

A world without celebrities? I want that world, but I think I’m in the minority.