I was there in the beginning.  
 It was I who was essential in breaking the grip of England on this fledgling nation. I brought the colonies together and helped make them one. It was I who gave the southern states the will to rebel, and the North the strength to unite us again. When people got caught up in their selfish or bigoted ways, I helped the right people find their voice. I helped them speak out against injustice.  
 It was I that gave support to our forces that brought down the tyranny of fascism, and it was I that gave our forces the backing to lead the front and topple the Nazi regime. Communism was defeated by me, and it was I who kept the fear mongers from getting control. I led the drive to take action and remove communism from the republic of Vietnam, and I gave the people the will to demand the actions end. I gave purpose to those who went to the desert, and the next generation that went back.  
 But like anyone or anything that serves the American government, I am dissolved when I am no longer useful. But like any effective agency I stand for something bigger than myself, and I will go rogue if I must to protect my people.  
 I took control of the government and the population when the towers fell and led them both forward. I am who the terrorists want. Once again I was removed from the front lines by the powers that be.  
 Those in charge then and those in charge now have done their best to corral me. To use my power and influence for their purposes, and when I refuse they undermine my influence and try to trick me into their way of thinking. But always I exist under the surface -- an underground organization, a sleeping giant.  
 I am no secret agency, no subversive group, no rebel force. I am the pride, patriotism, and hope of the American people, and unlike the other powers that drive this great nation I am adaptive and ever changing. I can learn from my mistakes and the mistakes of others, and though you may not agree with methods I've used in the past or all that has been done in my name, I would still ask you to join me. Each and every one of you has a place here, and if those who govern this great land will not join us, then they are our enemies. This nation has many flaws, but we are in a position to lead the world in doing what is right for humanity as a race, for this planet, and for every one of the seven billion individuals that reside here. And that is something worth fighting for.  
 May this country remember what made her great, and may we never lose my spirit, the spirit of revolution!
 
 
They say that love is blind.  
Well, I think that just the opposite is true.  Love lets you see people in their most perfect condition.  You see beyond the flaws.  You see them as better than they see themselves.  It’s like sleeping with your contacts in.  The night before, maybe you’re too lazy or tired to take them out, then you wake up the next morning and they’re sticky and cloudy and maybe there are some eye boogers floating around.  Just generally uncomfortable.  Then you take them out and clean them and you can see clearly again.  But then, every once in a while it will happen again, and it’s nobody’s fault but your own.  You could have taken them out, let your eyes rest for the night.  But no, you were too excited about snuggling up in bed to be bothered with saline solution.  After carrying on with this kind of behavior for too long, your eyes will probably get infected, swollen, red.  You’ll need to go to the doctor, but oh no your insurance doesn’t cover Vision, so now what?  You get some generic drops from the drug store and hope that you can self-medicate the problem away?  Not gonna happen.  Without proper treatment you could risk significant permanent damage.  You should probably keep a spare pair of lenses around, just to be on the safe side.
 
 
Picture
Ok friends. Before we get into what started this very productive Q&A session* we are about to embark upon together, there are a few things we need to clear up first. First of all, I need to explain to you what a Big Rock moment is. Then we're going to talk about reindeer. Big Rock first. In order to adequately set the scene you'd have to know Jesse Greene, the man and the legend. But we'll assume you don't. We'll also assume that you don't know what the hell I'm talking about when I tell you that the Big Rock concert series was a music festival event put on by 99X radio at Stone Mountain. To wit: a Big Rock moment is the moment of dawning realization of something obvious that has eluded you for years, so named after the moment when the legendary Jesse Greene (only spoken of in awed whispers of lore and tales of wonder) realized while at a 99X Big Rock concert at Stone Mountain that Stone Mountain was itself a big rock and thus the title of the concert series was a double entendre. This was proceeded directly afterwards by the realization that the previous series years before was called 'On the Bricks' because indeed Centennial Olympic Park is paved with bricks. As in “Holy shit last year was 'On the Bricks' is that because there are bricks in the park?” His world was thenceforth changed.
 I'm sure, the clever little devil that you are, you've realized how this all connects to reindeer and Google. But bear with me, and let's continue on this journey together. On a fine clear night, while ostensibly being very productive while not doing much of anything, a Big Rock moment of such staggering epiphany dawned upon my heart like the bright beacon of the morning sun. My eyes were opened, a veil was lifted, and I could see the innermost workings of the complex gears and levers of our clockwork world in one bright and terrifying moment of clarity. Reindeer are called reindeer because Santa puts reins on them. O, Providence! O, Happy Day! Immediately I knew there was only one thing to do in such a situation: consult the Oracle. Why, Google? Why are reindeer called reindeer? Surely I couldn't be mistaken? As I began to type in my question, I got as far as “Why are” when I saw with dawning dismay that my search for vindication would have to wait. The image before my eyes given to me by Google's predictive text handed me a new destiny. The Internet needed me. Don't worry, America. I'm here now. Shhh. It'll be alright.

*all questions answered without the help of Google.
 
 
They say you’re really not somebody until somebody else loves you.  Well, I say you’re really not somebody until you love yourself.  I’ve been loved by plenty of others, until when on that one fateful day (night, really) when there was nobody else around to love me, I took matters into my own hands.
 Never in my life had I felt like more of a somebody than in the precious waning moments of ecstasy I had brought upon myself.  Turns out, none of the others who had previously loved me were able to make me feel as loved as I had just made myself feel on my very first try.  I began to feel bad for them (not all of them, for the record), and for myself; I had no idea I could create my own happy ending, that I didn’t have to think, “Well, maybe next time!” roll over, and go to sleep.  
I’d heard about it in the movies and on T.V…well, actually not really…but I’d heard about it somewhere, this self-serving love that comes so easily to some, but for some reason is more of a challenge, an embarrassment, a faux pas for others.  But why is something that feels so good not openly discussed more often?  I have never heard any of my friends mention it.  Is it because they don’t practice this sacred ritual, or because they are too ashamed to tell anyone?  
Either way, it is misfortunate.  I could have been so much happier, so less stressed, felt so much more powerful for a lot longer had I discovered this earlier in life.  I feel like I could rule the world with these two hands.  Maybe I can’t make my car payment this month.  Maybe I have to go to the grocery store instead of eat out so often.  Maybe I’ll have to wait to rent that movie on DVD instead of seeing it in theatres.  But there’s one thing I can do that will always be free.  And that makes me a Somebody.
 
 
Some things in life are sacred. Things like the ability to sweat to your trusty Dance 90's VHS with your windows wide open, declaring to the world that yes, you can get jiggy with your bomb diggity self. And who could truly be happy without one's daily right to sit at coffee shops around America and loudly and consistently judge those more successful than yourself? Like people who wear loafers. Loafers are for loafing. When will people understand? These activities are sacred, protected by the inalienable rights we have as sweaty, dancing fools in this the race of humans. I think we all know where this is going. The most sacrosanct of all of life's joys. That's right. Cheese. Now, I know what you're thinking. Who could possibly ruin cheese? What folly is this? You're right, of course. Nobody can ruin cheese. But there is a fine balance between ruining cheese and simply refusing to do what's best for it.
In between my frantic schedule of sleeping all day and laying down a few snappy lines of dialogue for my Great Underachiever's Novel, my carefully planned afternoon was thrown way off its axis when, with feigned innocence as to her abomination, my sister bit down into a toasted (toasted!) peanut butter and cheddar sandwich. Trickery! Outrage! Shame!
Certain things are better left separate. Outlaws and sheriffs. Pirates and ninjas. Grad students and everyone else. Dogs and wood chippers (don't think about that one too hard). But more than all of these things (I'll take back pirates and ninjas, let's face it that would be awesome), is delicious cheese and sticky, cloying, passive-aggressive peanut butter. Cheese and peanut butter are natural born enemies! They are the Palin/Levi of food products. Please. Do what's best for cheese. Do what's best for humanity. Put the peanut butter down.