A Brief Moment

 "Then we saw them, just for a moment, like two featureless black silhouettes caught inside a furnace, joined at the hip, their hands stretched outward, as though they were offering a silent testimony about the meaning of their own lives before they stepped backward into the burning lake that had become their new province."

From Cadillac Jukebox, by James Lee Burke

Holy shit, man - I don't even know what to say about this one.  The couple is rich, they are a couple of scumbags who shit on the little man, they are criminals, they are caught inside their palatial home which is burning to the ground. This is their death scene. I am happy because they deserve it.

But it's that "silent testimony about the meaning of their own lives" thing that gets to me. I don't know if they are repentant or filled with regret, or maybe just don't give a shit, but they are going to hell and they know it.

All of us deserve a chance to make silent testimony about the meaning of our lives before we die. A brief moment to protest our fate or celebrate our life.

Fat Man At a Wedding

I once wrote a poem titled "Fat Man In A Tie."

It was hilarious. And true.

I have had many fat moments in my life. That's just the way it is. I get undisciplined, I gain weight. Of course my natural habits and enjoyable excesses do not promote slimness.

What are you gonna do?

I will be fat at Craig & Amanda's wedding. Too late now, baby. If I went Christian Bale psycho from the beginning of the year until now, I would have lost weight. I am convinced of it. But I couldn't (wouldn't?) do it.

I am the father of the groom. A role that demands dignity. A fat man in a suit has no dignity.

Even worse, I refused to buy a suit because I thought I might lose some weight. Magically. Kept putting it off. Now I don't want to buy a suit because I would be buying a suit for someone else's body. Why spend big money on some fat slob?

Men's Wearhouse rents suits. Much cheaper. This is what I am reduced to. I called today to understand how this whole suit rental thing works. It is doable.

I am limited to the rental suits they have available, I pick what I want out of a book. They take measurements (they do minimal alterations on rentals), I pick the suit up 2 days before the wedding, I drop it off the day after the wedding.

Is it hard to drop off a suit with a hangover?

A combination of procrastination, delusional thinking, and laziness has forced me to take what I can get. As opposed to picking out a gorgeous suit that reflects the man I used to be.

I am going to have to get over this mind bump. This is Craig & Amanda's wedding - it is not about me. I wanted to look like Vito Corleone at Connie's wedding, I wanted to project Don Corleone's gravitas. Instead I will look like Louie Anderson (before he died), I will project the gravitas of Woody Allen.

Maybe I'll just throw on a burlap sack and write the word "Suit"on it in yellow marker. Save some money.

Hey listen, life is one unpredictable motherfucker. How to predict I'd be dealing with hormone therapy and a bum knee in "the year of the wedding"? Not possible. At least without those two setbacks I would have had a fighting chance at looking dignified. Then again, maybe I just didn't try hard enough.

I got a pretty face. Maybe that will distract people. Yeah, maybe that will cause them to overlook my bulbous gut. That's what I am going with. The Pretty Face offense.

When the going gets tough, the tough get going.

Fat Man In A Tie

            Reprised from July 3, 2012

 

He flipped off the mirror, the mirror just laughed.

Cheap clothes and beer belly,

pants sagged off the ass.

 

A body misshapen and awkward

and cruel,

a diet of burgers and beer

burned as fuel.

 

How did this happen to a man once so proud?

A man who wore clothes that screamed “style” right out loud.

The waist once so skinny and tastefully clothed,

Sharp suits, tailored shirts made a comment quite bold

 

But now it’s the discounts and surplus stores too,

until he gets skinny, used clothes will make do

He thinks about sit ups, the weights collect dust;

and starvation diets are always a bust.

 

A voice in the brain says “you’ll get it all back;

as soon as you’re ready, the fat you’ll attack.”

A second voice whispers “Please give me a break;

sit down with a pork chop, a beer and some cake.”

 

And so the dilemma, the ups and the downs;

he gets all dressed up, yet he looks like a clown.

His memory taunts him, reminiscence of flair;

the body betrayed him, it just isn’t fair.

 

But motivation is growing as pride makes him strong;

he’ll get back that body and sing a new song.

He pictures cool clothes with a grin ear to ear,

and celebrates change with a frosty cold beer.

Crawling Towards..................

The walkers and wheel chairs and canes

Yeah, all of these things are a pain

And when you get old

No need to be told

Your struggle to live is in vain

The Sound of Bozo Turning Over in His Grave

She is married to a very strange man.

A man who creates his own ditties. Strange ones. Vulgarity is often involved.

A life-long favorite:

"What the fuck man,

Jesus fuck, what the fuck

What the fuck man, Jesus fucking fuck"

Sung to the tune of the Bozo the Clown theme song.

Seventh Son

If I was the seventh son of a seventh son, surely, I would hold maximum sway.

Life would cower before me, I would get everything I want, and friends and foe alike would fear me.

My financial holdings would strain the resources of the three largest banks in the world and I would not fear the future - I would be eternally secure.

I am not even close. I am the first son of a first son. But shit, man - that should hold some power, shouldn't it? It is nothing to sneeze at. First sons are magical, mystical and life changing. They promise to carry the family name forward. That's a heavy load, baby.

The way things are now, my family name will disappear with my sons. Strange feeling. Maybe I should do something spectacular before I die.

I am trying to find some magic, baby. There's some magic out there for me. I know it. I feel it.

I am rooting around like a truffle hog after the delicacy defined as fulfillment.

Yubba Dubba Do

Editor's Note: As I wrote this I considered name checking the top three banks in the world. As of April 2021, Wikipedia has a list of the top 100 banks in the world.The first four banks on the list are all Chinese. Does this not disturb you? It does me.

As we fight our petty squabbles here in the good ole US of A, other countries are concentrating on more important goals - like world domination. Finance will get you there.

The United States has been backsliding for decades. I fear we are past the point of no return. We are poised for a fall, precipitated by internal factors and external factors.

If democracy dies, it won't even fucking matter.

When You See It You Will Know

So, anyway, you just gotta break out your shovel, man.

Drive it deep into the muck and the shit of life. Deep as you can, then slam your foot on the edge of the shovel, kick that motherfucker even deeper.

Slam it, turn it, give it a twist.

Go deep. Go so fucking deep.

And turn up some happiness.

You might have to rinse it off to recognize it, but when you see it you will know.

An Amused Spectator

 "A man who's become an amused spectator at the dissolution of his own life. His face filled with a merry, self-ironic glow."

From Cadillac Jukebox, by James Lee Burke

Gee whiz, I hope this isn't me.

I've been thinking lately that I am treating death as I have treated life. At some point, my life became an ironic joke to me. So far removed from what I wanted it to be, that I became detached from it. Watching it from afar with a bemused expression on my face. A bemused sensation in my soul.

Now I am close to death. I am afraid. But not afraid enough to begin moving at faster miles an hour. To save my life.

My fat, old-man legs should be churning like those of Usain Bolt, racing to make something of my life before death makes nothing of me.

But it ain't happening. I am running in place.

Sometimes I get a sharp pain in my chest and I sit and wait to see if this is it. I don't think that qualifies as someone who is rabidly motivated to succeed at something - anything - before he dies.

Even death is becoming an ironic joke to me.

2022 has made me very tired.

Bad JuJu

A few weeks ago some dickheads casually mentioned they'd be interested in buying our house.

Cash offer, no inspection etc. Been chasing them ever since to get a proposal in writing.

Calls not returned, emails ignored. Obviously we quickly assumed the worst, not that we really expected a miracle like that to happen. Good things do not happen to good people.

Got an answer yesterday.

FORGET IT! Fucking scumbags.

As I said - we expected this. But it's the level of scumbaggery that astounds.

I spoke to the wife-person a couple of weeks ago, after making a previous call, and sending two emails  that went unreturned. She said - stuttering and sputtering - "oh yeah, we tried to get a proposal to you but we've been having trouble with our email. Give me a couple of hours and I'll get a proposal to you."

Never happened. You fucking, lowlife piece of rancid shit - if you weren't interested, just fucking tell me.

I hate this world and all the people in it.

So here we go. Putting the pieces together to unload this house the way normal people do. Walking down a treacherous path. You fucking never know what will happen; victory or massacre.

The last time we sold/bought a house was in 1986. We bought a house in 1979 for $30,000 - sold it in 1986 for $115,000. Smart people would be set for life in a situation like that. We put a major chunk of change down on this house, ended up with a tiny mortgage with a term of 15 years. FIFTEEN years. The house would be ours outright in 2001.

Nope. We bought a business, that business tanked, we got fucked financially, we are STILL paying for the house. Over and over again.

This is the most expensive house in the entire recorded history of home ownership.

So here we go. Will Covid rescue us? Will the house go for more than it is worth? Or is it too fucking late? Are we about to get fucked again? Unable to sell this rat-trap, stuck here in abject poverty and eternal shame.

I don't know. I don't care. I just got home from "work". I feel like a broken man. I am slumperd over, fucking tired, beaten, having dealt with another day of menial labor that rips my fucking guts out.

I don't fucking care.

I have no answers.

Go fuck yourself.

Groovy Cat

I am a Groovy Cat, Groovy Cat, Groovy Cat

I am a Groovy Cat, Groovy Cat, Groovy Cat

I am a Groovy Cat, Groovy Cat, Groovy Cat

Groovin' all day long

?

 Who the hell would make up a word like spelunking?

Hope is Pure

I try to inject hope into my life every day.

Today, on my way to work, I hope that I don't have a head-on collision with a flatbed truck transporting port-a-potties.

All About Me

Took a walk in the woods for some peace

And tripped over a corpse at my feet

I kicked him aside

And said something snide

Because it is all about me

I Forgot to Tell You About The U.S. Open and You Need to Know

I saw the most spectacular tennis I have witnessed in over 150 years.

Point after point, game after game, set after set, match after match.

Men and women - didn't matter. They all kicked ass. They were all virtuosos.

Carlos Alcarez beat Jannik Sinnik in the men's Quarterfinal in a five set match that lasted 5 hours and ended at 2:50 am in NYC. I sat mesmerized watching these two guys through three sets - then staggered into bed. I knew I was missing something legendary, but I'm pretty - adequate sleep keeps me that way.

Fucking amazing match.

Karen Kachanov (man) and Casper Ruud played a 55 shot point in the men's Semifinal. Fifty five shots. To win one point. Are you fucking kidding me? Absolutely spectacular.

Carlos Alcarez went on to win the title - he's 19 years old. He played three five-set matches to get there - against Marin Cilic, Jannik Sinner, Frances Tiafoe. One 5-set match would spirit me to the grave.

On the women's side - Iga Swiatek is the undisputed women's champ. This woman kicks ass. She won the title. Along the way she played Jessica Pegula - ranked #5 in the world, who made it to the Quarterfinals; Aryna Sabalenka - ranked #7 in the world, who made it to the Semifinals; and Ons Jabeur - ranked #2 in the world, who faced Swiatek in the Final. All of these women are spectacular. The tennis tasted like chocolate.

You probably don't recognize most of the names I just mentioned; no problem - I didn't either until I indulged my tennis addiction, beginning with the French Open. If you love tennis, get familiar - these people are the future of the sport. If you love me, send me money; I am impoverished.

My addiction kicked in at the right time - I am witnessing the changing of the guard. Nadal, Djokovic - getting older. Federer just retired. The young-uns are excelling, and providing enough excitement to make a miserable life worthwhile. I am happy to be discovering them, getting to know them - I'll be watching them for the next 20 years.

And the best part is that by then I won't remember a goddamn thing. So my sons can keep me eternally entertained watching the same match over and over in replay.

Monday - "Dad - you wanna watch Alcarez and Ruud?"

Wednesday - "Dad - you wanna watch Alcarez and Ruud?"

Saturday - "Dad - you wanna watch Alcarez and Ruud?"

Me every time - "Wow - can you believe how many great tennis players there are these days? Fucking amazing."

My life will be simpler then.

You Are Just YOU

It's amazing that I survived my early childhood.

My parents beat me regularly - with baseball bats, hockey sticks, lead pipes - it was great good fun.

After each beating, curled up on the floor in the fetal position, I would ask "What did I do?"

They would say "You are just you. That is enough. It's all it takes, you wimpering, slithering, spineless excuse for a human being."

I'd say "I'm spineless because you keep breaking it. It doesn't heal naturally without medical attention, you know."

They'd kick me in the kidney. And tell me to clean up the blood, piss, and shit I was lying in.

It wasn't a bad existence though. Toughened me up so I could face any adversity.

Every time I come up against a stressful or adversarial situation in my life, I automatically curl up in the fetal position on the floor and say "Go ahead, kick the shit out of me."

People seem to like it. They really wind up and give me a beating. They smile, they laugh. Makes 'em feel good.

Really, we are all in this world together.

If I can bring a little happiness into peoples' lives, I am creating a positive karma to help heal humanity.

Kind of like Gandhi.

I Need Me Back

Here's what I have learned.

Last week I was alone from Wednesday night through Saturday night.

I found myself completely at ease. Stunningly, staggeringly so. Sunday morning I awoke to anxiety, and it was painful.

Wednesday through Saturday was an out of body experience. I was spending time with a stranger. That stranger was me.

I always find ways to torture myself in every situation. Even situations where a normal person would be completely at ease.

When I am with Carol I feel guilt. Relentless, disturbing, guilt. Subtly. Relentless, disturbing and subtle? Does that make sense? Of course not.

What I mean by subtle is that it is always there. Always. Even when I am not consciously thinking about it, it burns right below the surface. 

Because I underachieved all my life, Carol and I face an uncertain old age. Uncertainty and old age makes for a torturous situation. Not sure where the money is going to come from, not sure how we will survive. All my fault. When I am around her I feel like I should devote every second to finding additional income and never, ever relax or enjoy myself until we are safe. I should. But I don't.

My engine always runs hot. Always. I cannot believe I am still alive. It runs hot when I am out of the house for obvious reasons. But the killer is that it runs hot at home. Are you fucking kidding me? Home is where relaxation is supposed to take place. Home should equal peace.

Can you imagine what it is like to never feel peace? Never? If so, then you are fucked up like me. Maybe we should have a drink sometime.

It hit me like a ton of bricks when I was alone because I felt so fucking good. I felt so fucking me. And the reason it registered this time is because I took a wholesome approach to this freedom. In the past, I would throw back a couple of drinks and escape into movies. And escape from myself.

Now I am like a person who has experienced heroin for the first time. I want that feeling again. I crave it. I want it at home all the time, and eventually in every waking second of my life.

I have noticed that it changed me a bit. Went to work on Monday and I felt strangely calm, strangely confident. I feel different. And that feeling has persisted. Not enough to change my life, but Real Joe has been awakened and lurks just below the surface.

I am happy that Carol is back. I love her with all my heart and all my soul.

I need me to be back. I need to love me with all my heart and all my soul.

An Amusing Little Ditty

There once was a man name of Joe

Who didn't know which way to go

He felt he'd been fucked

Because his life sucked

Thank god for the Whiskey and Blow

Unfinished

 "the unfinished story of ourselves."

A chunk of a sentence from Cadillac Jukebox, by James Lee Burke.

My story is indeed unfinished.

I am not trying to finish it, I am trying to change the ending.

It's a Thought

 I am laying down a concrete path to greatness.

Four & Three

It's time to shake things up in here.

I am tired of myself, tired of what I say in here. It is important that I see tangible results - concrete evidence of change - in myself and in this blog - by the end of this weekend. I am committed to this course of action. I NEED CHANGE. Or my life will fucking fade away into insignificance.

"Just like that." I have always loved that phrase. People talking about somebody changing overnight - "just like that." Making a definitive, life-changing decision, changing a personality, an outlook, a life - just like that.

I love the phrase but never believed it was possible. Maybe that is why I have not changed in any significant way. I have decided to put my faith in that phrase. And in myself.

You hear it most often from people who quit drinking or quit drugs - they get to a point where they recognize their powerlessness over this evil thing, and they just quit. For most people it takes multiple attempts, but some do it overnight.

Ringo's song comes to mind: "No, no, no, no, I don't drink it no more, I'm tired of waking up on the floor, no thank you please, it only makes me sneeze, and then it makes it hard to find the door."

The No No Song, Ringo Starr.

Some people apply the same philosophy to life - I am tired of myself, it is time to change. Powerful stuff that requires 100% commitment. 

Wealthy and privileged people take time off "to find themselves." I always envied them. But I really don't need that. I need to be alone with my mind and with the right motivation.

I have that this week.

Carol is away this week; she'll be home on Sunday. I took time off from work this week with a specific goal in mind. By the end of this run I will have worked one day out of 10. 

I got home Wednesday night to Patsy, Emmy Lou and..................me. Four nights, Three days - just the three of us. I had five days off for the labor day weekend, Friday through Tuesday - those days brought me a lot of peace. Unfortunately I had to work on Wednesday, which was like swallowing razor blades, but I got through it.

The five days of peace set me up uniquely for the Four & Three - I flushed the bullshit out of my system; now it is time to get serious.

Having Carol around affects me, changes me - because she is another human being. You always have to make allowances, compromises, when you are around another. I have noticed that I am completely relaxed in her absence; the perfect environment for change. That is not a knock on Carol; follow along carefully here. I miss her terribly and cannot wait for her to come home on Sunday. We are a unit - two who became one. But being alone offers a unique opportunity to reflect. With a mind as fucked-up as mine is, quiet reflection is the ultimate salve.

Normally in this situation I would step up my drinking, watch fucked-up violent movies and revel in the abuse and depravity. Not this time around. I am exercising religiously, eating well, consuming alcohol like a mature adult and thinking. Thinking, thinking, thinking.

I have a plan, an approach - and I am following it. 

You don't need the details; you don't believe I can pull this off anyway.

Who Decided That Rubes Set The Tone?

The word insurance used to be pronounced inSURance.

Now it is pronounced INsurance.

And the dumbing down of America accelerates.

Words I Will Never Speak.............

 "We flew into El Paso late that night."

how i SPEND my time

Time is precious to me now.

I don't have a lot of it left. The most important way for me to spend my time is with my sons and their women (I hate to use the word girlfriend - it sounds juvenile in this situation).

Carol and I spent Saturday with Keith and Krista. Know what we did? Spent time in Keith's apartment and talked. Went out to eat and talked. Came back to Keith's apartment and talked. There was a lot of laughter sprinkled throughout.

We don't see our sons as often as we'd like to. Not even close. That's life. Because they have lives. They don't spend part of every day wondering what Mommy and Daddy are up to. We accept that; it's just a natural part of life.

When we do get together I have noticed how simple it is to enjoy each other. The simple act of sharing a meal, of talking about whatever comes to mind, walking downtown, walking back, sitting, laughing.

We don't have to do anything. In fact, I have to re-phrase that - we did do something - we shared time together as a family. Shared time together.

If someone asked me and Carol to describe how our Saturday was, we would say "spectacular". And they would say "Really, what did you do? Go to a barbecue, a concert, the lake, a Fishercats game?"

And we would say "We visited Keith and Krista and went out for lunch."

That's it. That's all it takes to make our day spectacular.

When we got home, we talked about it. "Wow, what a comfortable day, what an enjoyable day, great lunch, nice walk, easy conversation." Because we appreciate it. We never take a minute with our family for granted.

I think we have always been that way but, for me, now - the feeling is amplified, and I am supremely conscious of it. We have been parents for 42 years and we are still in awe of our sons. That says as much about them as it does about us.

In the past couple of years I made the decision to travel to see our sons from time to time instead of summoning them to our house, as parents are wont to do (especially Italians). Of course they were summoned for decades, but whaddya gonna do? Learn, baby, learn.

It is satisfying to see them in their natural habitat. Visiting them where they live, enjoying their neighborhood, soaking in their life instead of imposing our own. It gives us a more complete picture of who our sons are and, always, more reason to appreciate and respect them.

Keith and Krista live in one of the more spectacular towns in NH. So picturesque, so much history, so much activity and peacefulness and beauty. Carol and I walk around like tourists, and absorb K&K's life through osmosis.

We spent Sunday night at a get-together of friends. Great meal in a beautiful setting by a creek in the woods. We enjoyed it. Really enjoyed it.

But at a lower level of intensity. 

When Carol and I are with our family, we are truly alive. With love and wonder and pride, satisfaction and peace.

That is how we prefer to spend our time.

For Carol

 "I don't need a whole lots of money, I don't need a big fine car, I got everything that a man could want, I got more than I could ask for, and I don't have to run around, I don't have to stay out all night, 'cause I got me a sweet, a sweet loving woman, and she know just how to treat me right.

Oh, my baby, she's alright, oh, my baby's clean out of sight, don't you know that she's............

She's some kind of wonderful, she's some kind of wonderful, yes, she is, she is, she's some kind of wonderful, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah."

Some Kind of Wonderful, by Grand Funk Railroad

As I sit here every night, and as time insists on flowing right by me, taunting me, leaving a vapor trail in its wake, I realize more and more that I may never have the life I want. I may never achieve anything professionally that I can be proud of. I may never do what I was born to do. This could be my life until the end of time.

Carol and I sit side by side every night - me in the recliner, her on the couch, watching the Red Sox or the documentary on the Rolling Stones, or City On A Hill, or.................whatever interests us at that moment, in the warmth of a love that spans four decades plus. The comfort of that love. The peace of mind of that love.

Carol's job is to make clear how much of my life I waste - waste - in regret, worry and self-loathing. To teach me how to enjoy myself in every situation, to be happy. To be happy now.

She is a good teacher.

She laughs easily, she enjoys the little things, she has grit, talent, and an endlessly positive attitude.

I take more and more notice of her every night. I enjoy her more. I wonder at the easy way she approaches life.

The more I let go of my regret at the life I should have lived, the things I should have achieved, the more Carol's vibe informs my own. I get happier when I let go of myself and pay atention to her.

She's some kind of wonderful.

Our Cats - Anti-Vaxxers?

Our cats have always been indoor cats. 

Because Carol and I are not stupid enough to let them out of the house. We love them.

We don't make regular vet visits. Don't get their shots or any other goddamn thing because every trip to the vet costs $1,750.

I have been thinking differently about Emmy Lou and Patsy.

When Lakota died, she was fine one day, and crippled the next. Could not even walk. I asked the vet what the hell happened. She said Lakota was severely dehydrated and had some other shit going on. I told her we saw her drinking water regularly, that she was eating; the vet said "Cats are very good at hiding things. Things like failing health." That stuck with me.

Maka was diagnosed with a tumor in her mouth. She died shortly thereafter. I thought maybe we could have caught it earlier, maybe have done something about it to buy her more time, if we made regular vet visits.

We took Emmy Lou and Patsy in for a general check-up shortly after we got them last September.

I decided then that we will get their shots regularly and get them checked out once a year while we are at it. 

They were due for rabies etc shots this June. Still, I procrastinated. Until I noticed blood in the litter box recently. And eventually, blood in Patsy's stool.

I fucking freaked.

Brought them in this past Wednesday - everything is fine. Dr. Vet is theorizing the blood is diet related. He is not worried. We are mixing and matching different foods to figure it out. Anyway, they got their shots, and had complete check-ups.

It was so traumatic for them I started having Joe-thoughts. What if our cats are anti-vaxxers?

We had to stuff them into cat carriers. They didn't like that. They didn't like the ride; they are not used to being outside the house. They fucking hated the vet's office. When we got them into a room and out of the cat carriers they were actually hissing at each other. That never happens. They love each other.

They were taken out of the room individually to get their shots. They were fucking stressed as strangers took them away from us. Warm moment: When Patsy was brought back into the room with us she immediately came over to me and rubbed up against my shoes. The woman who brought her in said: "She loves her Daddy." So true.

We stuffed them back into the carriers, got them home and released them. They were immediately happy.

I was thinking about how they had no choice in the process and no idea what the hell was going on. I felt so bad for them even though we were doing them good.

The whole thing was stressful - for them and for us - from start to finish. They live such an idyllic life that the visit must have blown their precious fucking minds.

And if they are anti-vaxxers, well, I'm sleeping with my eyes open from now on.

Death of Hopes and Dreams

I am working my way through a conversation between Joe Rogan and Aaron Rodgers. 

They cover many interesting topics. One of which is the inability today for people to think for themselves. I believe that has always been the case, and I believe that it is the crushing requirement to "work for a living" that heavily contributes to conformity, the breaking of the spirit.

Aaron Rodgers: "People are conditioned not to think anymore. People don't want to think for themselves, they are conditioned to do exactly what they are told to do."

Joe Rogan: "People are conditioned at work. Corporations have strict rules - behavior rules, dress code rules, language rules, rules about what time you are supposed to be there, and about the amount of work you're supposed to do. People are conditioned to have someone tell them what they can and cannot do. They get off on Friday and can't wait to get drunk, to escape this grind of a world.

A person who can become autonomous - have their own business, call their own shots - that's the biggest freedom a person can have in this culture. Most people don't have that, don't have the ability to think for themselves, because it has been taken away from them because they have to make a living."

Joe Rogan, on trying to figure out what he wanted to do for a living as a young man: "Nothing I studied was interesting to me in terms of making a living. Traditional jobs...everything looked like death - death of fun, death of hopes and dreams."

I have been preaching that philosophy in here for eleven years. Have you not been paying attention?

Working "for a living" kills you. And not thinking for yourself is the most important character trait those in power want you to have.

Unfortunately there is no easy solution. Almost everybody has to work. And the majority of people have no attractive options.

We pretend that "you can be anything you want to be." That is fucking bullshit. It is propaganda. You have to have certain advantages to even have options. The majority of people do not have advantages. So they take whatever jobs come along and they stick it out and suffer all their lives, with the exception of drunken Friday nights.

People like me have advantages in life, and many of us waste them, just fucking piss them away, and wind up taking whatever jobs come along, sticking it out and suffering all our lives, except for our drunken Friday nights. People like me commit crimes against humanity.

The dagger to my heart in Rogan's words came when he talked about considering career options when he was young. When he was in high school and college. He said that all the traditional jobs he looked at looked like death; death of fun, death of hopes and dreams.

That is exactly right. The worst part of all this is that we know it when we do it, and we march straight into hell anyway, because we have to make a living. And, you are 18 years old or 20 or 22 when you are making these decisions. You know nothing about life or who you are or what you should be doing.

You are uninformed and you wind up in prison. Life sentence.

It is a sad reality.

Those of us with certain advantages would do well to learn to fucking think for ourselves.