I am aware that blasting my family drama out to the internet is frowned upon in some circles. I do not care. I assume most people will have no interest in reading about it, anyway, which will make this very different from my other, wildly popular posts. But it will end on an uplifting note, I swear.

The other day, I texted my dad for the first time in eleven months. I said,

"Because the government classifies me as 'self-employed,' I recently paid a third of my savings in taxes, including a double portion of Medicaid tax. I pay a thousand dollars a month for housing. Thanks to Trump's 'big beautiful bill,' I can't get Medicaid because my income is 'too high.' Thanks to the same bill, health insurance is less affordable than ever, and even if I did have it, the company would refuse to cover anything.

"Meanwhile, a billionaire from another country is getting a 96% tax break to build a gargantuan data center in Utah that will quadruple my energy bills and make my air unbreathable.

"According to you, this is the way things should be, and I'm whiny and entitled for resenting it. That's a good example of why I don't talk to you."

Could I have been less combative? Sure. Would you have been as civil as I was if you'd taken as much shit from him over the years as I have? Not likely.

He responded, "You think the government should be paying for your health care, but you don't like high taxes. Makes perfect sense."

It truly amazes me that a man with a Masters degree could miss the point so completely. In the heat of the moment, I didn't have the patience to dumb it down for him, but in case any morons are reading this, I will now.

1. I had significant expenses, including but by no means limited to taxes.
​
2. The (Republican) government ignored these expenses and determined that my income was "too high" for me to receive healthcare.

3. I cannot afford healthcare.

4. At the same time, the (Republican) government is giving a massive handout to a wealthy asshole, because despite all conservatives' talk about individualism and meritocracy, they love giving massive handouts to wealthy assholes who don't need them.

And in case any morons haven't stopped reading this after I called them morons, I know that "free" healthcare costs tax money. Everyone knows that. It's not the "gotcha" you think it is. Libraries cost tax money too, but my family loves those. I could have gotten healthcare with the taxes that I already paid, but instead, I helped murder children in the Middle East. That was essentially my response to my dad, which he didn't acknowledge because a. he never acknowledges when he's blatantly wrong and b. like most conservatives, he doesn't give a shit about children in the Middle East. If this country had real social safety nets, I would consider paying higher taxes a worthwhile tradeoff for not constantly being one financial emergency away from living on the street, and also, the taxes to fund universal healthcare would be cheaper than health insurance premiums because they wouldn't cover the salaries of parasites like the late Brian Thompson who make millions of dollars a year by denying people healthcare. This system would also tens of thousands of lives every year, but we've already established that people like my dad don't give a shit about things like that.

My dad has spent his life defending inequality and injustice. This was a source of tension between us long before I knew anything about politics. When I could plainly see that something was bullshit, he said, "That's the way it is." He confirmed, as if I didn't already know, that he sincerely believes that his own son shouldn't be able to afford something that every other country in the developed world treats as a human right. He could be angry about the racist secret police terrorizing communities and tearing famillies apart, or he could be angry about any of a thousand unconstitutional power grabs by his lesser of two evils that would have given him an aneurysm if Obama had done them, but instead, he's angry at the prospect of anyone who's not a wealthy asshole, including his own son, getting medical treatment without working sixty hours a week and selling their kidneys. I do not respect his differences in philosophy. They disgust me to my core. That, as I said, is why I don't talk to him.

The lack of empathy, though particularly appalling in this instance, is nothing new. I've been on the receiving end for as long as I can remember. Both of my parents have some mental disability that makes them incapable of empathizing with or trying to understand anything outside of their personal experience and narrow view of the world. My dad knew what it was like to not be able to swim because his skinny body sank like a rock, so he empathized with me on that, and that was about it. He didn't understand how my brain worked or how I saw the world, so he decided I was always wrong and had an attitude problem, and strangely enough, his authoritarian, violent responses gave me an attitude problem. It's not like we've never discussed this. Years ago, after reading my blog, he said he understood me better and was sorry for the things he messed up on. I mean, he could have understood me better a lot sooner if he had, y'know, asked, which he didn't do because he was the grown-up and thought he knew everything, but cool. He said we were both different people now. Yeah, no, he just made it clear that he's the same person who used to hit me for not understanding social cues. He can go to the doctor whenever he wants and get as much prostate medicine as he wants, so fuck me. He wasn't raped by an imploding economy from the time he was born like my entire generation was, so clearly he's in a superior financial situation because he worked harder and deserves it more.

Furthermore, I believe without question that he would have fought for the Confederacy because he's always been fixated on states' rights and considered minorities' suffering to be acceptable collateral damage for electing people who call themselves conservatives. That's a sobering realization. He also loves the electoral college, but in fairness, he probably doesn't know that it was primarily created to advantage Southern slaveowners.

It's bizarre, frankly, because it's not like everything my dad has said or done was unloving. We've had good times. He's done kind and generous things for me, and of course he thinks I'm ungrateful and unreasonable for not focusing on those things and pretending the rest doesn't matter. First of all, though I do count some of them, especially the ones he did when I was an adult, I don't believe I owe him lifelong gratitude for fulfilling the basic obligations of parenthood that he chose to take on (even the ones he didn't screw up). More to the point, however, the fact remains that you cannot love someone and be indifferent to whether they have access to healthcare. That shouldn't need to be said - ever - but here we are.

I continued:

"It's quite telling that your immediate impulse is to double down on being an asshole instead of having the slightest shred of empathy for your own son who hasn't been to a doctor in five years and plans on offing himself if he ever gets a condition that would put him in medical debt. I was feeling guilty that you might die someday without me ever attempting to re-establish a relationship, but now I don't. Thanks, I guess."

Also:

"btw, that time I called you was a mistake. I was copying your number to give to a friend so she could congratulate you on getting what you voted for if I got shot by an ICE agent. Then after your voicemail, I felt guilty and tried to call for real. Oh well."

He responded: "👍"

This means that either he doesn't give a shit about me never speaking to him again, or he wants me to think he doesn't give a shit about me never speaking to him again. Probably the former, because if he did, he could easily rectify the situation. He chose this. He would rather have a stick up his ass about Medicaid than have a relationship with his son. I respect his wishes even though I don't respect his views. Actually, in a perverse way, I almost admire his obstinacy. Maybe he'll use it for good someday.

The last thing I said before blocking his number was, "Don't expect me to go to your funeral and lie about what a great father you were." After having some time to calm down and reflect, though, I regret not also telling him that if I die first, he's not welcome at mine. That scenario isn't altogether unlikely because he has healthcare, and I don't. Could someone please let him know?

As for my mom, I've probably mentioned once or twice that I cut her off for saying "You could move to Costa Rica" when I told her I had to talk to a suicide hotline after the election, except that I've unblocked her number a few times to remind her of the blood that's on her hands for supporting a fascist. I called her an asshole, so calling my dad an asshole created balance. And now here I am, an orphan. Not much has really changed. I already wasn't talking to my parents, getting birthday or Christmas checks from my parents, planning on visiting my parents in the foreseeable future, or expecting to inherit anything when my parents die. (If I were as entitled as they think I am, I would pretend to like them so they'd send me checks and put me in their will.) And since I started using Kush Kubes, my depression has plummeted to almost nothing even when I'm not high. My anger hasn't. Sometimes I think I'm angrier than I used to be. If I am, it's because I live in an openly fascist country now, and I'm reacting appropriately. On the other hand, I've always had an anger issue, and maybe I'm just more self-conscious about it now because it's at odds with my desire to be enlightened and stuff. So my reaction to cutting off my dad was 95% anger, 5% depression, and the next day, I was over it. I wasn't even very angry when I wrote this. I just enjoy writing with powerful language.

Enough of that. Here's the uplifting note I promised. My dad has claimed, based on his Mormon beliefs, that when I was born, he got a strong impression that we were best friends in the premortal existence. He said this gave him strength when getting along was so difficult. I don't believe in Mormonism, but I still believe in a form of premortal existence, which makes philosophical sense is a recurring theme in near-death experiences. I'm open to the possibility that he's right about that one thing. That seemed unlikely for a while because in this existence, we have little in common. Sure, we enjoy four of the same Star Wars movies, we laugh at some of the same jokes, I love the Beatles and Roxette and David Arkenstone because of him, and I think his engineering skills are cool, but our beliefs and values are so different that we had little to talk about even when I was willing to try. If we weren't related, I would never have chosen to associate with him at all. And it's not like I expect my friends to be copies of me. I've argued with the woman of my dreams more than once, but not about human rights.

Now, it's my understanding that we're all here as actors, playing roles, and the things that divide us are not the full extent of our true selves. Furthermore, some NDErs claim that people who love each other in the premortal existence sometimes take on antagonistic roles here to help each other's grow. So maybe my dad and I did that. Maybe I specifically asked him to say that stupid shit about taxes. It's a nice idea that makes me not hate him. If my beliefs are correct, we can laugh this off when we're all dead. If his beliefs are correct, it doesn't matter how much of a relationship we have before then because I, along with his dad, most of his siblings, and another of his children, won't be part of his eternal family in the celestial kingdom after rejecting Mormonism. (To be clear, I think there's a 0% chance that his beliefs are correct.) If our consciousness ends at death, nothing matters. There are, of course, other possibilities besides those three, but none that I'm particularly concerned about in this context.

​I feel closer now. We both know where we stand. Now on with my life as an orphan.

I'm against the escalating war in the Middle East for the same reasons as most Americans, except for rising gas prices, which I'd be lying if I said I give much of a crap about. Surprisingly, my very conservative mother said years ago that gas prices weren't high enough to reflect the environmental damage it causes, and she wasn't wrong. Anyway, I'm still glad the Ayatollah and several members of his evil regime are dead. My position on that hasn't changed and won't change. I'm allowed to acknowledge the positives of illegal and destructive wars that I can't stop.

I went to a protest against the war yesterday, but I hung back noncommitally until I was sure the speakers wouldn't defend the evil regime. Of course, they didn't mention how it treats women and queer people or that it recently killed far more of its own citizens than American and Israeli bombs have, but they didn't say anything stupid about its sovereignty or right to exist either, so that's a win. They just said stuff I agree with about how war ruins people's lives and makes weapons manufacturers fabulously wealthy while we can't afford healthcare. There was a verbal altercation between a brown woman in a Ukraine flag and a loud, insufferable-looking white guy, after which the woman left, and I think that had something to do with why the organizer of the protest, a young Iranian-American, got up at the end and asked us to remember the people we're fighting for, and to respect Iranian-Americans who have a different perspective, and that this was for them, not us. She got some tepid applause, and she said she was relieved to not get booed off the stage. But yeah, I happen to know that some Iranians, including those actually in Iran at the present moment, are thrilled about this war. They hate the regime that much. They'd rather take their chances with the bombs than keep living under constant oppression with no end in sight.

Many of us then marched from the Federal Building up to the Capitol to joing a protest for women's rights, and I saw a Mormon sister missionary across the street filming us as we chanted anti-Trump slogans, so I assume she either agreed with us or just wanted to affirm her testimony of the wickedness of the last days. This second protest was almost over when I left because the speaker said something stupid about the former president of Venezuela. First of all, I thought it was a hell of a stretch to bring him up in the first place, as the speaker used the kidnapping of him and the First Lady as an example of Trump's disdain for women. But the part that made me leave was the speaker's false claim that Nicolas Maduro was "democratically elected." If that were true, it wouldn't make him less of a brutal dictator, but it's not true. He was an incumbent president who lost re-election by a significant margin and refused to leave office - you know, just like Trump tried to do, but he got away with it because Venezuela's highest court is even more corrupt than the USA's. I hope the speaker was just laughably ignorant, not lying out of a compulsion to shield socialist governments from criticism, but it pissed me off a little either way.

Someone at this protest gave me a handout for an activist study group hosted by the Freedom Road Socialist Organization to "discuss how we can build the socialisty movement with Marxism-Leninism!" I would be interested in attending with an open mind, except that I'd probably find every single person there insufferable. Mind you, I'll still stand with them against fascists any day of the week. It's just so refreshing to have the integrity and clarity to criticize both sides, even though one side is clearly much, much worse.

A friend sent me this music video the other day. The music and the video were both made with AI in 32 hours, and they're very much the opposite of "slop" (though I readily acknowledge that most of what's called "AI slop" is, in fact, slop). Great tune, great lyrics, great shots. I'm blown away. My childhood dream of turning my daydreams into movies is closer than my more sensible adult self ever imagined. Of course,  it's also legitimately scary how good this video is. Soon it will be impossible to tell the difference between AI and reality, and I have no idea how or if society is going to adapt to that. The legal system already has safeguards in place against fabricated photographic or video evidence, but the average American who already believes everything they see in social media is about to get mind-screwed. There are also potential legal concerns about using actors' likenesses. I don't know much about that, but I know that Giselle from "Enchanted" isn't an official Disney Princess because Disney would have to pay Amy Adams every time they used her likeness, even in illustrated form, so it seems inevitable that sooner or later, someone is going to sue over their likeness appearing in an unauthorized music video. Hopefully not a really badass one like this, though.

Going back through the videos, I could see how much they've improved in only a year. A Pirates of the Caribbean music video from a year ago, "Dead Men Tell No Tales," is still good but looks and sounds more artificial. Unfortunately, going back through the videos is also how I discovered one about DOGE. I read the transcript instead of listening/watching, and it's Elon Musk bragging about how he'll root out all the corruption and waste in the government and send the perpetrators "Straight to Jail." I would have been happier not knowing that the guy behind these videos is MAGA. I couldn't resist trying to make him feel embarrassed for thinking that the richest man in the world would root out corruption and waste out of the goodness of his heart. I commented, "This aged like milk." Mic drop. Even MAGA, with its famous disdain for basic logic and objective reality, can't argue that point... can it?

This guy simply responded, "ikr." (On the remote chance that anyone for whom English is a second language is reading this, that means, "I know, right?") I actually respect that. So fine, okay, I'll separate the artist from the art. Yes, even though it may be controversial, I am calling him an "artist" because he puts a lot of work into these songs and videos, several of them are very, very good, and I don't know what else to call him. The world is better because these songs and videos are in it. The world is worse because of his politics, but his individual influence in that regard is probably negligible anyway. Just like mine. Heavy sigh.

"Weird Al" Yankovic has been my favorite music artist for over twenty years. I don't remember precisely when a friend introduced me to him, but I was hooked from the first time I heard "The Saga Begins." He's funny, he does many different genres, and people who have met him have only good things to say about him. He's never had a scandal in his 40+ year career. Last fall, I bought tickets to see him in concert for the first time on my birthday, and that was one of the things that kept me going through the past few months. Now that it's over, the things I look forward to the most are the Legend of Zelda movie and Trump's death. It was the best night of my life, or at least it's tied with a couple of times I was high for the best night of my life, and my summary will fail to do it any justice if you weren't there.

The concert opened with special musical guest Puddles Pity Party, a sad clown who mostly sang covers with humorous videos playing on the screen behind him. His opening number was "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows," and the video showed him chasing a guy in a faceless full-body rainbow costume, and then they reconciled and hugged, and he walked away with a "Kick Me" sign on his back, and the rainbow flipped him off. Another highlight was him singing "Crazy Train" with clips of infuriating stuff like slices of cake being cut in different shapes and sizes, a piece of paper being folded unevenly, and Skittles and M&Ms being mixed into the same bowl. Another highlight was him matching the "Gilligan's Island" theme to the intro of "Stairway to Heaven" against a backdrop of footage from the awful cult classic "Waterworld," with extra emphasis on Kevin Costner. By his final number, I'd had enough of Puddles Pity Party, but he was a great choice for Weird Al's opener - also weird comedy, but a totally different style, so he didn't feel redundant.

After a brief intermission, Al's band set up on the stage, and the camera followed him through the outside hallways as he sang "Tacky," his parody of Pharell Williams' "Happy." Puddles Pity Party made a cameo appearance to show that they were homeboys. Then Al came in, and everyone freaked out, and he high-fived the people in the best seats as he made his way to the stage. I'm just going to make a list of funny and cool things he did with no narrative coherence because again, this isn't an experience I can do justice with narrative coherence.

He called for a drum solo, and his drummer hit the drum one time. Everyone applauded. Later, he called for a drum solo reprise, and his drummer hit the drum twice. So stupid, so predictable, so funny.

He lowered his voice - he can have a low and sensual voice when he wants to - and said, "I'm gonna need all you dudes to chill out, because this next song is just for the ladies." Then, as you can guess if you have any culture at all, he sang "One More Minute." He got down off the stage and got right in a lady's face. Then he pulled a pair of boxers out of his pants and threw them at another lady. She can either treasure those forever or sell them on eBay and retire a millionaire.

He explained that the song he wrote for the end credits of his recent biopic made no sense out of context, but he would play it anyway. It made no sense out of context.

He said he wanted to take a request for a change, and of course everyone shouted at once. He said we couldn't have everyone shouting at once, so he'd pick one person to make a request. Everyone put their hands up. He picked Jim, his guitar player. Jim said, "How about some Doobie Brothers?" Al was like, "No, we have to play one of our songs." (Side note: "our songs?" Such humility!) But Jim just started playing "China Grove," so Al went ahead and sang it straight with no lyrical changes. Very expectations, much subverted!

In between many of the numbers, to give him time to change costumes, the screen showed clips from the Al TV interviews where he makes celebrities look stupid and other TV shows and movies that have referenced or featured him. "King of the Hill" got the biggest laughs: "Bobby, Al Yankovich blew his brains out in the late 80s when people stopped buying his records. He's not worth gettin' into trouble over."

Other songs included "Fat," "Amish Paradise," "Stop Forwarding That Crap to Me," "Skipper Dan," "Everything You Know is Wrong," "eBay," "Smells Like Nirvana," "White and Nerdy," the themes from "Captain Underpants" and "Milo Murphy's Law," and "Polkamania!" (his polka medley of hits from the decade since his last album). He sang a very long medley of songs including "Eat It," "Like a Surgeon," "It's All About the Pentiums," and "Word Crimes," and several others that I don't remember at the moment. Singing along with hundreds of other people to songs I know by heart that would elicit blank stares from the average person on the street was surreal and glorious. The kid singing along next to me was probably twelve. There is hope for the rising generation. I realized he must have had a lot of questions about the dated lyrics, like "What's a Polaroid? Who's Jamie Farr?"

Then Al was like, "That's our show for tonight," and he explained that it would be logistically unfeasible to keep going all night. People clamored for another song, and he made a big show of walking a few steps off the stage, then turning back and considering it, then being like, "I just can't!" as someone put a coat on him and helped him along like in the video for "Living With a Hernia." Finally, he and everyone in his band left the stage. Some of the audience actually left as soon as he said the show was over. What the hell? I don't even go to concerts, since I don't like most people enough to pay two hundred dollars to see them, and I knew full well that the show wasn't over. Sure enough, five minutes later, Darth Sidious got on the stage and sat at the piano. He played a funeral march and used the Force to make people cheer. Then Darth Vader, a bunch of stormtroopers, and R2-D2 got on the stage, and Al sang "The Saga Begins." Then he sang "Yoda," but with a long break in the middle where he and the others did a medley of chants from "The Hukilau Song," "Hooked on a Feeling," "Walk the Dinosaur," and other sources I didn't recognize. It was... weird.

I was too busy living in the moment to take pictures during the show, but I took some before and after to prove I was there.

Oh yes, and I got the VIP package, so I met him after the show. The Star Wars people entertained us while we waited in line. I was too awkward to speak up and ask someone to take a picture of Darth Vader choking me. He did act like he was going to choke me and then make a thumbs up instead, which was funny.

And this is my "I just met God" face, apparently. Maybe it's just because I haven't met many stars, but I've never been more starstruck in my life. It was like a middle school crush. Sadly, time did not permit me to become his best friend, but I let him know that he'd made this the best birthday of my life, and I'm sure he loved hearing that because he lives to make people happy.

Recently I went to a fundraiser for Palestine that happened to be a rave. Due to some BS with the police and a landlord, it was moved from its intended location to a beautiful park with lots of trees, which I think was for the best. It was pretty chill, probably not a "real" rave, but I don't have much basis for comparison. Some parents with a couple of little kids were on the playground when we arrived, and they left when the music started. A middle-aged guy showed up with his daughter or granddaughter to use the playground, and he bought something from the Bakers for Palestine table, and then after using the playground for only a few minutes, the little girl wandered around the proverbial dance floor playing with one of the bubble guns that the DJ let her have. Everyone was real nice and careful not to use drugs in front of her. I loved how she kept a poker face the entire time while her father or grandfather beamed at her.

For a while, I sat on the grass and didn't dance or talk to people. Then I joined a circle of people sitting elsewhere in the grass, and they talked about shrooms and weed, and the woman next to me passed around a vape pen full of weed for anyone who wanted to partake. Yes, the scenario of strangers offering me free drugs that I was promised in elementary school finally came true. Since I'd already eaten several THC edibles with no regrets, I gave it a try. She had to show me how. After that, my self-consciousness disappeared, I danced my heart out without caring if I looked stupid, I socialized with people I recognized from multiple protests but never got to know, and I had a great time. I don't think I've ever had such a great time at a social event surrounded by strangers. Richard Nixon can rot in hell for trying to deny me this experience. (And for many other reasons.) Because I wasn't in bed in the privacy of my room, I didn't get a lot of the usual dissociation and hallucination, but I still got some when I closed my eyes and surrendered to the music.

In the process of enriching every aspect of life, THC also makes me more attracted to women than usual. It's not typical for me to see a woman in person and feel compelled to think "God damn, she's cute," but that night, I did. She was just standing there doing the clone trooper dance.

She caught me looking and smiled. I was just about brave enough to go over and tell her that I couldn't help it because she was beautiful and I was high. And it's not like I was the only high person there by a long shot. But I didn't know if she would find that sort of thing amusing, so out of caution and respect, I didn't.

Then just yesterday, I read a study about a newly discovered correlation between THC and early heart disease. This is important to know about, and I'll be mindful of it in the future, but I'm not terribly concerned. This correlation was found in "people who smoked (not vaped) marijuana three or more times a week for at least a year" and "people who consumed THC edibles at least three times a week for at least a year." I haven't consumed THC edibles nearly that often or had any plans to do so. Recently, I've been doing it once every one to two weeks, and now that I've run out, I'm fine to take a break before I get more. I hope they're perfectly safe in moderation. If not, that's unfortunate, but they've had such tangible benefits for my mental health and spirituality that it was worth it even if my heart wears out faster and cuts short the years of old age where everything would hurt and nobody would visit me. I'd like to die quickly from heart failure anyway, not slowly from cancer or starvation.

My landlord is trying to sell the house. I don't know if he'll be able to do that in the economy that Trump singlehandedly broke with his moronic trade war, and if he is, I don't know if I'll have to move. Logically, unless the new owners have a massive family, they should let me and my roommate stay in the basement. It's a self-sufficient living arrangement with its own bathrooms, kitchen, and laundry, and why wouldn't they want to get that income without having to do anything? They'd probably increase the rent, though. And if I do have to move, wherever I go will probably have higher rent. Everything in this country is designed to make sure I'll never save up a comfortable amount of money. The more money I save, the more fucking expensive everything gets. And it's not like this is a great place where I want to stay for the rest of my life, but I really don't enjoy moving.

I'm really trying to let go of my desire and trust that the universe will provide, like I did when I moved here in the first place. It's a lot harder this time for some reason. I've had a lot of anxiety over it in the last few weeks, and the anxiety is an almost physical feeling in my chest that doesn't go away just because my brain tries to talk sense into it. It didn't help that my landlord forgot or failed to add me to the group chat about when people are coming to look at the house, so I was in the shower when some people showed up, and then he was upset with me, and I was like WTF, I didn't do anything wrong, I'm not psychic. I wonder how old that group chat is. All those times he pissed me off by not warning me he was going to make an ungodly amount of noise with his renovations and render my quarters unliveable, maybe he thought he had warned me.

That same day, I went to the dentist and learned that I'll have to get a crown for $1229 (with my membership discount). Hooray. When the receptionist came back to tell me about that as if it were a normal thing I should be okay with, she asked if I was doing anything fun that day, and I said I was going to watch the finale of Andor, and we talked about Star Wars. I said Andor is great because it has a lot of political intrigue, and she said, "It's interesting that a lot of people don't realize how political Star Wars has always been." I fell in love on the spot. Not really, but I felt like I did. Then she called me "love" when I left. She wasn't even British. I understand that her job requires her to smile and be nice to people, but is it really too much to ask for women who aren't British to not call me "love" if they don't love me? Really? The word is "love." Do I need to draw a diagram?

That morning, I had been content with my solitary lifestyle, but then she gave me the smallest taste of the affection that's routinely denied me, and all it did was remind me how hungry I am. Then, because I wanted to have a positive attitude about life and not resent getting screwed out of $1229, I figured at least I'll probably see her again when I go back, and maybe that will be worth $1229. Probably not, but in my defense, last year I got financially screwed to the point of suicidality and it led to me establishing a real relationship with my uncle despite our political differences and spending a bunch of time with his youngest kids, who turned out to worship me, and it taught me that relationships are more important than money. So this isn't just about the receptionist being attractive. But, like, money is still important if you enjoy having any of the basic necessities of life. Don't get it twisted.