Currently on my nightstand...

... although probably only until tomorrow (as it is a very short book), is Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Memories of My Melancholy Whores. It is deep and haunting. Beautiful. Sad. Hopeful. Fine holiday fun! Well, maybe not quite Shrek the Third, but certainly something that could entertain and provoke you over the impending holiday weekend.

One resounding quote:

"Sex is the consolation you have when you can't have love."

Is there truth to that? Sure, sex feels good, but do we use it mainly as a way to validate ourselves, and convince ourselves and others that we are worthy of some sort of affection? Do we fall back on it so much as a society because it is the easiest go-to? (And furthermore, with all of the potential emotional and physical repercussions, how did it become the easiest go-to?)

Hopefully not always. But I'm sure that most of us have at some point, if not more often than not. I feel like even the most seemingly detached people from the act could probably trace their behavior back to some longing or lack of love.

Interesting how what should be the most intimate act that two people can share often is really just used because it is the most obvious way to validate ourselves.