I'm wearing pants, for f---'s sake. Lay off. I mean, it's not like I'm a f---ing lead miner. There are harder jobs in the world. But when people feel the freedom to create Tumblr accounts about my c---, I feel like that wasn't part of the deal ... But whatever. I guess it's better than being called out for the opposite.

Time moves on. You can't go back in time. Everything has a consequence, and the last episode of the last season is no exception.

Whether it's Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian or whoever, stupidity is certainly celebrated.

We know that inevitably the millennials will get old and tired again, and then there will be the bilennials or trilennials, or whatever the next generation is, and we're all going to end up on our lawn shaking our fists in a bathrobe yelling at the moon.

It is nice when things end. That is what stories do - they end. It is hard to write endings and it is hard to come to the end of things, but I think when it is done right, it is a very satisfying way to appreciate something.

I remember opening my dad's closet and there were, like, 40 suits, every color of the rainbow, plaid and winter and summer. He had two jewelry boxes full of watches and lighters and cuff links. And just... he was that guy. He was probably unfulfilled in his life in many ways.

I don't necessarily want kids. A lot of our friends are having children and I don't know if it's for me. I haven't come down hardcore on either side of the argument. I think when people come from a stable family having children becomes a celebration and I'm not sure it would be that way for me.