I got a sexy Moleskine notebook for Christmas. It's very nice and it's the sort of thing I would never buy for myself but was curious about, so it was an excellent gift. So far I've learned that none of my thoughts or feelings are fancy enough to be written in such a nice notebook. "Would Hemingway or Picasso have written that in their Moleskines, Brad? Honestly." It's still blank and I'm trying to work up the balls to wreck it with language.