This, my friends, is the stuff dreams are made of...

As I noted round abouts this time last year, I've never been successful in my attempts to leave the kiddie table.

But what a difference a year makes. After sustained complaints, my family (albeit quite sarcastically) finally let me move on up to that de-luxe dinning table in the dinning room, as it were. I didn't get to move up to a full bed this year, but at least I got to move onto a couch in the upstairs living room, which receives heat. Baby steps, my friends, baby steps.

And let me tell you, the adult table is everything I thought it would be and more. Real chairs! Real table! Real words used in conversation!

Suddenly, the world is my playground. Food tastes better, the sky is bluer, the young ladies are more comely, and the slow-gripping desperation brought on by neo-liberal hegemony seems less overwhelming.

But more importantly, I feel as if I've finally crossed one of the great thresholds into the strange land of adult-hood. Today, I can stand in front of my God and my peoples and say unequivocally that I am indeed a Man, with a capital M, for that is now my right.