Turn and face the strain.

Is it bad that I've invented a game for my nephew when he comes to my apartment, called "Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes," where he walks around the squalor I live in and picks up loose coins that have fallen out of my pockets and I haven't yet picked up? I've given him his own little wallet, and I sing to him in my best David Bowie impression.

Maybe it is, but hoo man, you should have seen the excitement when we found that Sacagawea.