Although I'm always pleased whenever young people approach me seeking advice about what they should do with their lives, I have to confess that this isn't an easy question to answer, especially since I have always been the type of guy whose one and only flaw is that, when it comes to caring about the concerns of others, I guess that, sometimes I just care too much.
(A doctor once told me that my heart is four times larger than that of the average male.* **)
Since I respect these young, inquisitive souls so much, the last thing I want to do is to bore or patronize them with a predictable platitude, such as "follow your heart."
Such advice always sounds empty, obvious, condescending, and absurd. Think about how it sounds to a hip 18-year-old. "Follow your heart to where?"
One might as well advise them to "follow their kidneys."
High School Seniors are quite adept at detecting when elder is feeding them a Happy Meal-sized portion of steaming horse shit.
Maybe that's why my advice is so highly sought after by America's best and brightest teens. They've heard from their own respected peers that for well over two decades I've made it a practice to never bullshit anybody, and that practice extends even to fuck-witted teens.
So, what do I advise these folks?
Well, first, let me say that, when it comes to giving advice, one size does not fit all, unless you're advising 18-year-olds. Then, it's pretty much "six of one/a half dozen of the other." Anything goes. Just don't confuse them with profundity. They'll get plenty of that in freshman philosophy classes.
I tell each and every one of them that they should "play it by ear."
For whatever reasons, this advice always resonates.
The looks of gratitude I receive after uttering those four short words would be truly humbling to a less confident man.
Yes, there are tears, embarrassment, and nervous laughs, or girlish giggles. And, I've got to admit that sometimes the emotions that are expressed make the moment feel feel a bit awkward and even kinda creepy. Especially when the teen is stoic and I'm the only one emoting.
But there are also the rewards. The bear hugs. The heartfelt "thank you." The friending on Facebook.
And is there any better feeling than that of watching someone, whose life you've just transformed, walking away, feeling better than he or she ever thought possible?
Of course, there are, but not many. ***
When the young one is halfway down the block, I usually cup my palms around my mouth and then shout out a cheerful reminder: "Don't forget! You owe me now! Big Time!"
I love helping people. It's just who I am. I guess you could say that by helping other people find their callings, I wound up finding my own. And I guess you could also do a lot of things. Just do us both a favor and don't come to me for suggestions.
* Rick wasn't technically a practicing medical doctor. His degree was in something to do with government, or poly-sci.
** A Male Howler Monkey.
*** Here are just a few feelings that are better:
all orgasms;
an epic bowel movement;
winning (while someone, who bugs you, loses);
finding a magic lamp;
vending machine drops two candy bars for the price of one;
meeting a leprechaun.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
The Real Reason Why Bush Attacked Iraq
We've all heard many theories about the real reasons Bush launched his insane war on Iraq, but there is one that hasn't been mentioned ... until now.
I put all the pieces together this morning.
My theory was inseminated a few nights ago, when Michael Jackson's body was finally buried. I was tinkering around in my bedroom with Flickr photos, while CNN was providing background noise. Out of the blue, I thought, "What about Bubbles?"
During the endless coverage devoted to Michael Jackson, I hadn't heard a peep about the late entertainer's NBFFA (not best friends forever afterall).
I googled.
Rest easy. Bubbles is still alive. He's now living in a Florida chimp sanctuary.
It turns out that Michael had banished him from Neverland after the chimp became too physically aggressive. Bubbles was immediately and unceremoniously dispatched to a local chimp sanctuary.
Depressed. Exiled. Fallen from grace.
He became understandably despondent. Who wouldn't? One day you're the toast of the town, posing for one of Jeff Koons's six million dollar sculptures, and the next, you're discreetly farmed out to a glorified petting zoo.
In 2003, Bubbles attempted suicide.
The news of his failed attempt was hushed up, but the psychiatric experts at the local sanctuary concluded that Bubbles would be better cared for in the Florida facility.
The experts were right. Bubbles is alive and, by all accounts, happy.
*****
This morning, I'm reading a facebook comment from a friend, who, in a playful, yet somewhat wistful way, confessed that she frequently wishes someone would "whisper sweet nothings in German" into her ear.
My first thought was, "Well, honey ... join the club."
But upon further reflection, I stifled my base instincts, and offered up a morsel or two of some somewhat helpful advice.
I suggested she seek comfort in the healing works of the legendary Las Vegas animal entertainers, "Siegfried and Roy."
It is a little bit embarrassing to admit this, but I wasn't 100 percent certain of the correct spelling (although I was fairly confident about "Roy"), so again, I used the google.
On wikipedia I learned the grisly details of Siegfried's tiger mauling during a sold-out Las Vegas performance in 2003.
Reading the article was, in itself, a horrific experience. This was truly an awful scene. Gruesome. Disgusting.
And that was before I came to the part about the mauling.
These two gentleman make for what some people call "a strange kettle of fish."*
****
See the pattern?
Bush launches the Iraq War in 2003. Bubbles attempts suicide in 2003. Siegfried gets severely mauled by his favorite tiger in 2003.
There is only one logical conclusion. During 2003, there was some sort of cosmic event that triggered the brains of Earth's animals to malfunction, go haywire, do things that defy rationality.
I can't pinpoint the event, but evidence of it is still all around us.**
And that, my friends, is the rest of the story.
The Old School ... Good day.
* I've always been troubled by the phrase: "strange kettle of fish." Certainly, it should be: "kettle of strange fish."
** Iraq, Florida, Las Vegas, Dallas, etc.
I put all the pieces together this morning.
My theory was inseminated a few nights ago, when Michael Jackson's body was finally buried. I was tinkering around in my bedroom with Flickr photos, while CNN was providing background noise. Out of the blue, I thought, "What about Bubbles?"
During the endless coverage devoted to Michael Jackson, I hadn't heard a peep about the late entertainer's NBFFA (not best friends forever afterall).
I googled.
Rest easy. Bubbles is still alive. He's now living in a Florida chimp sanctuary.
It turns out that Michael had banished him from Neverland after the chimp became too physically aggressive. Bubbles was immediately and unceremoniously dispatched to a local chimp sanctuary.
Depressed. Exiled. Fallen from grace.
He became understandably despondent. Who wouldn't? One day you're the toast of the town, posing for one of Jeff Koons's six million dollar sculptures, and the next, you're discreetly farmed out to a glorified petting zoo.
In 2003, Bubbles attempted suicide.
The news of his failed attempt was hushed up, but the psychiatric experts at the local sanctuary concluded that Bubbles would be better cared for in the Florida facility.
The experts were right. Bubbles is alive and, by all accounts, happy.
*****
This morning, I'm reading a facebook comment from a friend, who, in a playful, yet somewhat wistful way, confessed that she frequently wishes someone would "whisper sweet nothings in German" into her ear.
My first thought was, "Well, honey ... join the club."
But upon further reflection, I stifled my base instincts, and offered up a morsel or two of some somewhat helpful advice.
I suggested she seek comfort in the healing works of the legendary Las Vegas animal entertainers, "Siegfried and Roy."
It is a little bit embarrassing to admit this, but I wasn't 100 percent certain of the correct spelling (although I was fairly confident about "Roy"), so again, I used the google.
On wikipedia I learned the grisly details of Siegfried's tiger mauling during a sold-out Las Vegas performance in 2003.
Reading the article was, in itself, a horrific experience. This was truly an awful scene. Gruesome. Disgusting.
And that was before I came to the part about the mauling.
These two gentleman make for what some people call "a strange kettle of fish."*
****
See the pattern?
Bush launches the Iraq War in 2003. Bubbles attempts suicide in 2003. Siegfried gets severely mauled by his favorite tiger in 2003.
There is only one logical conclusion. During 2003, there was some sort of cosmic event that triggered the brains of Earth's animals to malfunction, go haywire, do things that defy rationality.
I can't pinpoint the event, but evidence of it is still all around us.**
And that, my friends, is the rest of the story.
The Old School ... Good day.
* I've always been troubled by the phrase: "strange kettle of fish." Certainly, it should be: "kettle of strange fish."
** Iraq, Florida, Las Vegas, Dallas, etc.
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