Am I a better or worse son if my gift prepared for the imminent Womb Appreciation Interval is a bootleg hand-crafted soundtrack (i.e. time) versus a legit cellophane version? (i.e. money)?
Completely unrelated, but Youtube + vidtomp3.com is pretty gnarly.
If I successfully complete a crossword (or sudoku) at lunch, I leave it there so the next person who cleans the table will marvel at my cleverness. "Who was that erudite fellow with the golden vocabulary?" the busperson will say.
If I fail to complete it, I recycle the paper in quiet shame.