Upon unloading a shit-ton of sadness on you guys last week, there was speculation that this sadness has produced who I am today. I'm looking at you, The Stupid Midwesterner.

I don't think that's accurate. It's probably because I didn't express myself correctly cuz I can't write good (wish I wroted gooder) but I don't really define myself from sadness.

I define myself in the way I react to tragedy. Listen, when the people closest to you stab you in the back, rip out your spine, and feed the remains to three-legged vermin, then you'll know what I'm talking about (unless you're like Paula Cole and want to write a shitty album about how much life sucks.) You realize you will never (and that you shouldn't) go back to that life ever again.

Tragedy breeds experience, and experience often brings clarity. Life now is much different (understatement of the year): the music is sweeter, the friends are friendlier, the family is smaller yet more family-er, and everything else is just nicer. If that's what happens when tragedy rolls by, that's okay by me.

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Since I'm now used to all this rapidly changing shit, I want to kill off the rest of 2010 as-is.

In 2011, I want to fuh-reak-out. In a good way.

I like my place now, but I already want to get a new apartment and go balls-fucking-nuts in decoration. Like, stuff that will make people not want to come visit. I want to travel to a country most people don't even know about and just eat. I'll also try a new haircut (Rufus Wainwright has the most epic haircut of all time, and it's my goal to look 1% as dapper as that cat.)

I'm only 24, for fuck's sake. I can do whatever I want. That's pretty bad ass.

You guys should get a blog. When no one gives you a chin-up, just give it to yourself. For example: I'm awesome! See? Easy. THANKS, BLOG!

No, seriously, thanks, blog.

Can you drink alcohol when you sky dive?