Society for Creative Anachronism - Fencing, heavy weapons, archery, cooking without recipes, tea, armoring, swords, martial arts, hiking, drunk people, rock climbing, traveling, discoveries of all sorts, social interactions, camping, fishing (especially fly fishing) philosophy, biology, chemistry, RPG's, computers, video games, anime, comedy, D&D (yeah, you can fuck off), fantasy novels, medicine, women and all the activities ensuing...
You. Make it worth my while... HappySatan69
Oh gods... Almost everything. Industrial, techno, folk, rock, hair metal, any sort've interesting rap (preferrably not most of the mainstream crap), I freakin' love Voltaire (both the philosophe and the musician, though obviously since this is in the music section I'm talking about the musician.), VNV Nation, Flogging Molly, The Pogues, Rev. Horton Heat, JP Corwyn, Stan Rogers, Spill Canvas, Social Distortion, Johnny Cash, Bach, Vandals, The Darkness, Lordi, Aerosmith, Cruxshadows, Haydn, Nightwish, Rancid, Gogol Bordello, The Faint, Counting Crows, Apoptygma Berzerk, Basement Jaxx, Mozart, Franz Ferdinand, Minstrels of Mayhem, AC/DC, Brobdingnagian Bards, Bus Driver, TV on the Radio, Sparta, Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Liszt, Dirty Dozen Brass Band, Buckshot Lefonque, Portishead
Uhrm... Dr. Who, Dresden Files, House. That's about it, I think. I'm not a huge TV person, really.
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.
Tiny little thumbless robots.Also: My most amazingly fucking hilarious Grandma.