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As human nature goes, as far as the human spirit goes, quite often people will sit back with that nature and that spirit and reflect upon deep and meaningful things, taking pride in the fact that this sitting back and reflecting upon their nature and spirit are unique to themselves (as a race, not individually, though there are some out there that assume the uniqueness applies to themselves within the race, as well), really enjoying the hell out of having an excuse to put their feet up. Unless the spirit begins asking, constantly, for you to pass the nachos, when they might as well get up and get a bowl from the kitchen and fill it up with the contested corn chip things. And so it goes.
But it is in moments like that (barring nacho-incidents), that one begins to ruminate on all sorts of things, usually things of a larger nature, looking at the big picture, as it were.
Things that bind us (and not in that sense, so please stop thinking about that) all together (if you're going to persist thinking those thoughts we'll see fit to it you're bound closely to Richard Simmons. And Nicolas Negreponte.), issues that face the whole lot of us, the way we all, by our very design, work. Which includes secret desires.

We all harbour secret desires to be trampled by a marauding band of mutant jellyfish who've managed, at long last, to make it up on the beach, and this time with a vengeance (as opposed to the myriad of times they'd just washed up on the beach and lain there, until some squishy child made a squishy mess of themselves by trampling, themselves, all over the jellyfish, faring none too well out of the water, just endemic of the fish species as a whole, barring the ones that mutate and decide they quite like the whole gravity thing and how it promotes rock-friendliness and wind up building a house, only to be told they now have a mortgage, eight kids, and a waste disposal problem), marauding this way and that, trampling all sorts of things (not just the fortunate people who are seeing their lifelong and likely unrecognised secret desire to be trampled by a maruading band of mutant jellyfish fulfilled at long last) for reasons not entirely known to us just yet, as no mutant jellyfish has ever stopped for a long enough period of time to be asked pertinent questions.
We are all facing this problem, you are not alone.

If only we'd stuck in the ocean for a little while longer, waited until the jellyfish got it out of their system, then we would have all been all right.

disclaimer:
I really have haven to really honest really have to really need need to stop reading newsgroups.
Otherenwise my brayn myte go rotten (along with grammar, spelling, and such...).
Those of you who are genetically programmed not to use grammar and spelling properly (let alone use it well enough to feel comfortable abusing it), have no excuse, you are alone, and I'm sending marauding jellyfish, the moment I can get ahold of one of them, after you.

Back at the Sane Magazine Mansion in London this week, and largely un-jet-lagged at this point, save one intern who wasn't terribly used to flying (nor used to being locked in a large wooden box, for the entertainment at one of the Los Angeles events), we would like to thank the throngs that showed up at the American events for their support, especially those celebrity guests rumoured to be enamoured with our dear sweet founder.

It is quite likely we will be showing our appreciation sometime in the near future... you just keep waiting right there...