I spend more time thinking about my grandfather on his birthday now that he’s no longer alive than I did while he was among the living. You see, my grandfather wasn’t much of a birthday man. When I called on his birthday, he’d quickly change the subject and that would be the end of that. He absolutely didn’t need anything and if you spent any money on him, you’d have to prepare yourself for a lecture on penny saving. One of his favorite things to tell me was, “Cyan, a penny saved is a penny earned”. He was never impressed by spending money on gifts and it was a sign of failure when I did, so I just decided to forget about his birthday all together.

He was a very handsome man. Measuring in at 6′3″ and all muscle. He wasn’t the bulky type, but very toned from years of building houses and working on farms. When I saw him out working on the garden or out in the fields, I always thought that he looked like he was chiseled from rock. He was iconic. He wore overalls, short sleeved shirts, baseball caps that he probably found on the side of the freeway somewhere and leather shoes. My grandfather lacked style, yet he defined it. When he was younger, he had a full head of hair, but towards the end he had a few black tufts that formed a circle towards the top of his head. He washed his hair with Ivory soap and never understood the female obsession with shampoo and conditioner. He didn’t fight it and let us have it, but he told us often that he thought it was totally pointless and that a good ol’ bar of Ivory soap was fine enough for him, so it should be good enough for us.

My grandfather was a mathematician farmer. He taught math during the school year, made jewelry and pottery at night and on weekends and spent the summers farming. When he retired, he quit all but the farming. For some reason, he could never give that up.

The man was obsessed with saving pennies. He had a system for saving those pennies everywhere. Here are some of them and there are thousands more:

* We left the hot water tank off at all times and only turned it on when it was time to take a shower or do a large amount of dishes.

* We never used the dishwasher because it consumed too much water.

* The dryer was only to be used for blankets and during thunder or snow storms. If there was wind in the air and  it wasn’t freezing, you were expected to hang your clothes on a line.

* He put his car in neutral and coasted down hills. He claimed this saved on gas.

* He altered his car and took out the catalytic converter to turn his car from a 20 miles per gallon vehicle to something in the 80s, but completely illegal in most states.

* We reused aluminum foil. I had to wash, dry and put it away.

* We traded our veggies that we grew with other farmers and we only bought milk, candy, ice cream, soda, spices and sugar at the grocery store. All other things we grew or traded. My grandfather fished or hunted for most of our meat.

* Our vehicles didn’t have a single automatic thing in them. This saved money on eventual repairs for the electronic gizmos that would fail and make him unhappy.

* We burned wood in the winter only at night to keep warm. The rest of the time we wore sweaters.

* We shopped at estate sales, yard sales, flea markets and discount stores. We were never allowed to buy something full priced. It always had to be on sale.

* Coupons. Coupons. Coupons.

I hated a lot of these things when I was growing up. I always thought that his thrifty energy could be spent doing other things. I never thought he was living his life, but he was. He was playing a non-stop video game of penny saving and he was doing it for me and the rest of my family. My grandfather found worth in these activities and felt like an accomplished man.

He was everything to me, soapy head and all, even though he came from a different era of mad men. He had strange ideas about people and the world around us, but it doesn’t matter, because he was a good man and I love him and there’s not a day that goes by where I don’t miss him or think about him, especially on his birthday.

Happy birthday Grandpa.

Jealousy is a fascinating human emotion and one that I feel from time to time.. When I was younger, I let it take control of me and I didn’t realize that I could take control of it. I can choose not to be jealous. It isn’t easy and it takes time, patience and a lot of rational thought, but I can actually do it.

So what do I get jealous over? Funny stuff really. I mostly get jealous over experiences that I missed out on. For example, when I see a video of two friends who went out and flew remote controlled helicopters, I become filled with jealousy, mostly because that moment passed and if I tried to recreate it, it might not be the same. I wish I was there. Even worse, I imagine in vivid detail what it would have been like to be there and I long for it, which I’ll admit, is totally pointless.

Ok, here’s something totally irrational. When people tell me about their ex-girlfriends, I get jealous of those memories. Sometimes, with some people, I wish I could be their ex. I wish I was a memory of their past and something they thought about in that way in their present. Seriously, even the bad stuff. “She stole my shit, took my cats and wrote all over my walls” and I think to myself, “Gosh, why wasn’t that me?”.  I’m still working on that one, because that really doesn’t make sense. I mostly just wish I had a chance to be close to that someone in that way for some period of time. [Note: I really don't want to steal cats or write on walls]

Sometimes I even wish there were thousands of me and I’m jealous that there’s only one. I’m jealous over missing out on so many things. I suppose I should just want less, but I really want to *be* more.

So why am I thinking about jealousy? It has been a topic that has surfaced a lot lately. Jealousy is a driver for a lot of things in our world and it is rarely talked about. When you think about it, you mostly think about the emotion in a relationship context, so we don’t immediately think about it playing an important role in the business world or other aspects of our lives.

The most fascinating facet of jealousy that I have a hard time understanding (and it isn’t wrong, because it really is an odd emotion and was super important for the survival of our species) is when people feel it over another person’s success. See, I live for people being successful. I celebrate it. There are drastically different measures of success and we all think of it differently, but one way I think of success is that it can simply be accomplishing your dreams — whatever they are. Why someone would want to take that away from you or do everything in their power to be negative every step of the way bewilders me, but I see it happen all of the time to successful people around me.

I guess I’m just sitting here wishing that we’d all celebrate everyone else and that we’d find joy in what we don’t have. I think I have a pretty good handle on my jealousy, but I’m going to work harder on repurposing the silly stuff into the creation of new memories. I’m going to use it as a plan to book time with friends to fly helicopters. I can’t do anything about being someone’s ex, but I can use those emotions to write stories and draw from that energy to do fun things. There won’t be 1000s of me any time soon, so I have to learn how to be happy with this one life and what I can do with its limited time.

Questions:

Are you joking?

No.

Wait, what do I win exactly?

1 *amazing* ticket with an awesome view of the show next to yours truly.

$500.00 in travel to be used on flight + hotel from wherever you are. I was thinking we could go for my birthday. That sounds fun. What do you think?

Can I bring someone with me? My friend/grandma/mother/girlfriend/boyfriend doesn’t trust you.

Yeah, I’ll get them a ticket too, but you have to cover the rest of their travel. I’m cool with that, but I reserve the right to make faces at them all night long.

So…. how do I win?

You can enter every day, as many times as you like, as long as you follow these simple rules.

RULES: You must type the first part of this *exactly* - any variation of the first part disqualifies you and a loud buzzing noise will go off. The up to you part is the remaining 84 characters where you quote something you love from the live show, something you’d like to tell the the world about Penn & Teller, favorite episode of BULLSHIT, simply “THERE IS NO GOD”, or anything else you think will make me smile and annoy your beloved friends.

Someone (not me) will run a script and randomly pick a winner and I’ll notify you via Twitter. Some other special people with awesome quotes will win some kick-ass P&T stuff just for being creative and cool.

Examples:

[EXACT] RT @cyantist I want to go to Penn & Teller @pennjillette [UP TO YOU PART] THERE IS NO GOD

[EXACT] RT @cyantist I want to go to Penn & Teller @pennjillette [UP TO YOU PART] I love the water BS episode

[EXACT] RT @cyantist I want to go to Penn & Teller @pennjillette [UP TO YOU PART] Can I sit on your face?

[EXACT] RT @cyantist I want to go to Penn & Teller @pennjillette [UP TO YOU PART] Monkeys are funnier than penguins, hands down.

[EXACT] RT @cyantist I want to go to Penn & Teller @pennjillette [UP TO YOU PART] I better fucking win.

[EXACT] RT @cyantist I want to go to Penn & Teller @pennjillette [UP TO YOU PART] Knock Knock

That’s it. It is easy peasy.

When is your birthday?

May 17 (we can really go any time you like, but in or around my birthday just sounds fun - maybe yours is sooner?)

When does the contest end?

March 14 - Special bonus points if you can tell me why it ends on this date. First person to guess gets the next season of BULLSHIT when it comes out.

I love snow globes, yet I have none physically. However, the concept of the snow globe appeals to me greatly and it is how I think of my thoughts in the past. Perfect moments trapped in time that I can shake up and relive at any moment. I have a very visual mind and someday I’ll put together a series of images and videos (snow globes) to show the world what Cyan thought looks like, but for now, think of it as millions of snow globes playing through pictures, sounds and video reels.

At TED, one of the most beautiful and wonderful snow globes was formed in my head and I’m having fun shaking it up every now and then. It is quite possibly one of the most extraordinary moments I’ve experienced in my life.

I had just finished dinner and headed back to the Westin hotel with a new awesome friend I had made. My intention was to get my car and head out to see some pals that had arrived from San Diego and then go to my hotel, but something special and profound stopped me, pulled me in and I couldn’t leave.

One of the musical performers at TED, Eric Lewis, was playing songs on the lobby piano and he was surrounded by nearly 60 people sitting in a crescent moon formation. I got a drink and headed over with @pud to claim our spot on the moon to take it all in.

We were digging the music something fierce and we were getting into the audio landscape he was paving before us, when suddenly something jarring happened. A tapping noise appeared. At first, I thought someone was banging on the floor with an object of some sort. I was annoyed. Everyone around me was annoyed and agitated. We wanted the tapping to stop because it was pulling us away from being focused on Eric’s blanket of sound that drew us to the moon. The tapping knocked us off one by one.

Eventually, we figured out where the tapping was coming from. A tap dancer stood up and started tapping as if her life depended on it. The expression on her face led me to believe it was imperative that she dance. She needed to get it out. She danced and danced and then the room divided. Half of the room cheered her on and the other half murmured in secret that they wished she’d get physically removed or would get the hint that many of us just wanted to enjoy hearing Eric play. She persisted and danced on. Eric didn’t seem to mind. He never stopped playing. As a matter of fact, she requested that he start playing ragtime music and he honored the request and she tapped on. The back of the room was getting shifty at this point. Where was this going? When would she stop? When would we feel complete that we had seen a musical genius perform in front of us and remember that moment forever. When would she stop staining this moment for us?

With every finished song, half the room cheered. The other half wondered who would last longer, the tap dancer or Eric. The crowd was nearly 200 people at this point. As Eric led her into another song, something incredible happened. A professional rodeo star  stood up with his lasso. Yes, his lasso. He started to dance with it. He had performed on stage at TED earlier in the day and apparently still had his lassos on hand, so he went to town. She tapped on and he lassoed on, as if their lives depended on it.

As Eric finished up another song, the crowd rose to their feet and clapped for an encore. Suddenly everyone was dancing, tapping and standing on chairs. The crowd was ecstatic. A conga line formed. Lighters came out of pockets and the Westin was transformed into the perfect snow globe of memory one will never forget. I certainly never will. I was transformed in that moment and it wasn’t because of Eric, the most wonderful piano player, it was because of the tap dancer.

You see, when change happens, it is uncomfortable. You resist it. It is jarring like a tap dancer who’s life is on the line, but if you give into it, you’ll find yourself in a conga line with high on life feelings you’ve never experienced because someone was brave enough to do something different and take risks. She took a risk and it was uncomfortable, but she transformed the room into an entirely different experience that was shared by all.

If the half of the room got their wish for her to sit down and be silenced, I’m placing bets that conga lines would not have formed and the place would not have erupted in dance. I’m guessing we’d all go home with the memory that we saw a great musician play the piano and that would have been it. Which is nice, but this moment transcended that.

So, I’m thankful for the tap dancer. She changed my life. She made me recognize that discomfort for what it is and learn how to embrace it, because sometimes discomfort leads truly amazing snow globes and perfect moments captured in time.

Let me start off by saying that I love TechCrunch and I have a lot of respect for Mike Arrington. I agree with a lot of what he says and believes in, so this isn’t a personal attack on him. This is just inspired by a post he made on Twitter and that’s all.

Also, I’d like to point out that I donate to several charities, but I research them very well before donating and I also believe there are very few worth donating to and that’s what this post is all about.

You see, I hear this a lot - “If you really cared about the world, you’d give your money to charities instead of x, y or z.” The thing is, most charities are BULLSHIT. Giving money to most charities is like flushing money down a toilet. I have worked at three non-profits in my life: Greenpeace, Shanti Gallery (art gallery who’s proceeds helped AIDS research) and WEAP (organization that helped women in underprivileged or welfare to work situations learn technology skills to get better jobs). I phone canvassed for Greenpeace (age 16), sold art for Shanti (age 17) and was the CTO of WEAP (age 25), so I’ve had broad experience in different organizations over the years. What did all three of the non-profits I worked for have in common? Mismanagement of money and very little social change, research or animals saved. The only thing they all did well was make someone feel a sense of happiness that they did a good deed in the world when they wrote huge checks.

Also, businesses are in the business of succeeding and making money. Non-profits are not. They don’t have same methods of success. When non-profits start to run out of money, they don’t get crafty, they just ask for more. It is like a never ending bleeding wound that you just stuff bandages on. A for-profit business will create a return on investment or go down trying.

Now that I’m in a position to invest, the amount of charities that contact me begging for money is astounding. Every one of them promises the same thing - great change in the world and a promise for a better future.

You see, I believe the greatest good you can do in the world is create value (goods or services) that consumers and businesses want to pay for and in doing so, you create jobs. I think a better use of money than charities is investments in the stock market or businesses - your own or someone elses. In doing so, you have a better chance of improving the world.

What about the 6k I spent on TED? Well, every time I meet someone or share ideas, I have a better chance of creating value or jobs and so do they. Those connections are valuable for business, theirs and mine. It isn’t like we’ll chat or I’ll watch a talk and I’ll go home feeling good that I saved a whale or solved world hunger. The value of networking pays off over time and who you know makes you like Voltron. I’m only so strong by myself, but with the power of others and their ideas, you can truly start making change in the world together, especially if you incorporate those changes into business.

So, what charities do I donate to? Charities that operate like for-profit organizations such as  Kiva and Reason Magazine/Foundation. I think the only exception I’ve made is for the Methuselah Foundation, because medical research is tricky and requires a lot of money and the payback sometimes may not even be seen in our lifetime, but if they succeed the payoff is great. I donate money to the WJF and it is a for-profit entity.

In the end, do what you want with your money and don’t listen to people who want you to feel guilty for spending your money on whatever the heck you want to, because even the act of buying a thing excels innovation and ideas. Buying a thing on Ebay might be more beneficial than any amount of money given to a non-profit at the end of the day.

I’ve been spending a lot of time alone thinking lately. Usually, the only time I get to do this is in the shower, but I’ve been making time to do it out on the streets. I met a friend for lunch today and intended to come home afterward, but one turn led to another and before I knew it I was eating, thinking, taking random photos and watching a movie alone. This is the second day in a row this has happened and I must admit it was like going to a spa. A brain spa.

My business partner once told me that he could never date me because I’m always in my head and rarely in my body. This was definitely the case before I started Zivity. I’ve been out of touch with my physical body most of my life. It served little purpose to me other than getting in the way most of the time.

If you asked me what my perfect day was a few years ago, I would have told you a cup of coffee and an amazing conversation. Nothing makes me feel more connected than sharing ideas.

However, something  in me changed when I saw the first picture of myself that took my breath away. I’ve always admired beauty and I’ve always loved the art of the human body, but I never thought of myself in that context. It was not due to low self-esteem or anything like that, because I knew I must look good as I attracted plenty of people. I just never cared. I didn’t look in the mirror and think I looked bad or good. I was however really into self-expression through clothing. I’ve always enjoyed fabrics, colors and textures and I’m kind of like a peacock in that way. I like to express my mood and how I feel through my clothing. I’ve always treasured costumes for this reason. If I had my way, it would be costume day every day, because I think that’s what clothes are. Even business suits are costumes for roles we play.

Anyhow, now I’m more connected to this body of mine and my only regret is that I didn’t figure this out sooner. This body is my life. It is not just my brain. There’s a lot more to it and being connected to my body made me more connected to myself.

So, over the past few days I’ve seen two movies about life and death. Notorious (as in BIG) wasn’t particularly good, but it got me thinking about how valuable and precious life is. How these bodies of ours are like burning houses going down in flames and every day that goes by is a day closer to death. Benjamin Button really drove that home for me.

There was a lot of religion in both of these movies. Religion softens death for most people and I understand why people want to believe in it, because it gives you hope that there’s more to life and more of it. It is honorable to want that. Heck, athiests and believers share that in common. I want to live longer too. I absolutely love living.

What I walked away from with this movie is that I think I want to live more than most religious people I know. I don’t have anything to soften my death or those of whom I love. Sometimes I lose sight of this, but really I shouldn’t, because when you do, you put aside those things you really want to do with your one life.

It also got me thinking about God and if there was ever a moment in my life that I believed in God and the answer is no. I never believed in God for one moment. However, I did believe in Santa Claus. Finding out that Santa Claus wasn’t real broke my heart and I never trusted things I couldn’t see or prove again. There was one moment in my life where my heart suffered so greatly that I wished there was a God. I wished I could pray and make the suffering go away. I wished I could find comfort, but the only comfort I had was the passing of time.

Anyhow, what great message do I have after all of this thinking and my time alone?

Do what you want with your life. Been thinking of writing a book? Going on a trip? Starting a company? Cooking some brownies? Learning how to sew? Do it. Figure out how important it is on a scale and do what is most important to you. Nothing matters more.

Right now I really wanted to write this blog entry. Normally I would talk myself out of it with tiredness or whatever, but I sat and rated how important it really was to me and it was the first thing I did when I got home.

There’s no time like now, because now is passing.

I absolutely adore Las Vegas. It speaks to me on so many levels. I know plenty of people who hate the place and maybe you are one of them, but hear me out. Maybe I’ll change your mind a little.

There’s a Las Vegas for everyone.  Every income level (even no income, trust me) and just about every interest.  The marketing brains of Las Vegas are hard at work to make that possible.

Have kids? No problem! Come to Circus Circus.

Old fashioned? “Stay Classic” at Ballys!

Rich? Wish you were? Bellagio!

Midwestern and wealthy? Wynn!

SCA? Excalibur!

Nerdy? Hilton! Luxor!

Kind of rich to rich, into exotic travel or fantasize about it? Venetian! Paris!
Pirates? TI!

Hipster college kid? PH!

Sexy?! Mandalay!

Poor or on the cheap? Hooters! Downtown!

Rocker? Biker? Too cool for the strip? HardRock baby!

Thrill seeker? Hardcore? NY, NY! Stratosphere!

You get the picture. I could go on and on.

Las Vegas is the shining star of capitalism.  It is an adult Disneyland that is for the most part almost uncensored.  It is what a lot of people want and desire all contained on a tiny strip of land that you can feasibly walk from end to end.

I am actually not a huge fan of gambling and booze, but I love that it is there and legal for consumers that love and want it. Las Vegas gives it to them, and even has a slogan for it all: “What happens in Vegas…”

I am a fan of the conferences, the heat (most of the year), walking, people watching, shopping and shows.

You see, you may not know this about me, but I really love jugglers. I love illusionists (as long as they don’t try to convince you what they are doing is real) even more.  Vegas is my hotbed of both.  Vegas is my Woodstock, my home away from home, my Lovefest, my Burning Man, my music festival, my Broadway… You get the picture.

However, what I love most is the science of crowd control and the power of marketing.  Nobody does it better than Vegas.  Well, maybe Tokyo, but Vegas is up there.  Everything from the walkways, the carpet, and the signage to the sounds the slot machines make are designed to tickle that itch, stimulate that part of your brain that makes you want to lose track of time, let loose, have fun and keep your eyes on the ground. I could spend weeks studying it all.  .

I have gone to Vegas by myself and done just that.  Btw, nobody understands a woman by herself in Vegas; it doesn’t compute. Ladies, try it! You’ll get very special treatment!

When I go to Vegas, I create a custom trip for myself each time and I haven’t run out of ideas yet.

Themes like “nothing but”:
Coverbands
Magic Shows
How low can you go (on the cheap)
Lady shows
Food!
Dancers
Comedians
Shopping
Walking
Fountains
Old Town
Swimming

See?! The possibilities are endless.

I’m stuck in the SFO airport and I just had a funny memory while I was sitting here. My stomach feels bad…

When I was five and in kindergarten I had a two month period where I was sick every single day at nap time.  I remember it clearly.  Only at nap time.  Naps came after snacks, so it was probably a food allergy, but nobody ever put that puzzle together.  Instead, they thought I was trying to get out of napping.  What they didn’t know is that I would have done anything to sleep.  I wanted to sleep, but as soon as layed down, my stomach hurt and my head throbbed.  I would lay there and cry and eventually my teacher would show me the door and command me to the nurse’s office.  I’ll never forget the first of those trips down the hallway.  I didn’t know where the nurse was and I was terrified of walking alone and getting lost.  I walked carefully holding my stomach until I finally found my way.  A very tall (tall to me) woman hovered over me and said,

“What’s wrong? Are you nauseated??” I looked at her in horror.  That sounded really bad.  I had no idea what it meant, but it really scared me.  Like Gremlin scary. I started crying again and collapsed on the floor.  She repeated the question and I said “No!!’, so she asked more questions and finally gave up on me and put me in a bunk bed where I took my nap and many naps after that.

When I got home, I asked my mother at dinner what nauseated meant and she told me that it is when you are sick in your tummy and it hurts. Now it all made sense.

The next day when I went back clutching my stomach, I came in and said, “I am nauseated.  I am Cyan and I am nauseated.” They always knew what to do after that.

For some reason this memory is a funny one to me.  Who asks a child that? It was one of my first impressive words for sure. Now, when I am sick to my stomach, I sometimes say that I am nauseated and it makes me smile.

I get this question often. No, seriously, I do! People even write me emails that say my name in quotes like this:

“Cyan”, when should we set up a meeting?

The funny thing is that this trend predates Zivity by 10 years. It actually began when I started to get serious about tech/computers. Everyone thought it was my handle and that my name was really secretly something else. People would go so far as to try to guess my real name and insisted this name I liked to call myself was not real.

Well, it is! I was born with it. For rizzy.

In my early years, having the name Cyan was a curse. I absolutely hated it. I sat around thinking of alternate names I could go by.  I threw some of them against the wall to see if they would stick and nothing I ever wanted to be called did. My friends all liked variations of the name Cyan that were less flattering: cyanide, cyanotic, cyran, cy, cysi, cyano, cayenne, chane, etc. I hated it. Nobody knew how to say it or spell it. Nobody knew what it meant. The #1 question I would get upon meeting someone was, “Wow, what an unusual name, what does it mean?”

My life changed with default color background schemes on Sun computers and the popularity of the household color printer. Suddenly, everyone knows what Cyan means. Now, the most popular thing someone says when they meet me is, “Cyan, like the color?” or “Do you have a sister named Magenta?” Well, I do! Actually, that’s a lie, I don’t.

So how did I come about this name? Well, there are two different versions of the story. I don’t know which one is true, but I’ll let you decide which one is better.

Both of my parents are artists. My mother is a realist. She can paint and draw exactly what she sees. My father makes claims that she’s not very creative. Well, he’s right. My mother is very factual. She’s actually quite scientific about it all. She’s more into the science and mechanism of art than the actual art itself. I get my engineering part of my brain from her most likely. My mother walked away from the world of art when I was 13 to study and earn her second master’s degree in microbiology. She’s wicked smart. Scarily so.

My father sells himself short. He calls himself an artist jock, but doesn’t play up his intellectual side. He’s actually quite savvy. Now, as you can imagine from how much I played up my mother’s fact based and direct life, my father is incredibly creative. He daydreams and invents things. He’s always thinking of cool things to do or about stuff he can make. He’s constantly on the go and has so much energy. He creates art daily and it is all abstract, colorful and fun. He invents words and writes poems. Well, my Dad, he’s just adorable. I get my bounciness, social ability and creativity from him.

When I asked my mother how I came about this name, she responded, “Well, you were born blue. You were cyanotic, had your umbilical cord wrapped around your neck and you were suffocating. What else do you want to know?” Satisfied with this, I wanted to know about my middle name, which is Starr, to which she replied, “Your great great Aunt was Belle Starr, famous gun slinging horse thief outlaw - I wanted you to take the family name back after us being ashamed of it all of these years.” See, my family legally changed their last name to ditch the Starr stigma that is now very chic and cool.

Wow. I was blue! According to my mother, that wasn’t her first choice. She wanted to name me Thyme. (Thank goodness for the umbilical cord eh?!)

My father says that on the night I was born, he walked out to take a break in the parking lot of the hospital and looked up at the sky. In the sky there was a sparkling star.  It twinkled in various shades of blue and looked Cyan to him. He knew I was related to the Starrs, so he decided that it was a sign and that I should be the Cyan Star(r).

I go back and forth between which one is my favorite story. Sometimes when I’m feeling soft and fuzzy, I lean towards my dad and if I’m feeling humorous and brainy, I lean towards my mother’s explaination. It is kind of neat to have two different stories and it makes me wish I had a few more to choose from.

Now I think my name is the best gift I’ve ever received besides my life itself. So, thanks to my parents for picking such a bad-ass name. I’m super proud of it.