……like most obnoxious know-it-alls, he actually knew very little but for some inscrutable reason believed otherwise; in his warped mind he was a canny savant, with his knowledge base extending to nearly every subject imaginable and then others beyond that as well.  And so, akin to most confirmed know-it-alls, the fat, intrinsically detestable poseur was utterly unbearable to be around and one would take egregious, exorbitant steps to merely avoid his presence for any appreciable length of time.  Sometimes that simple strategy worked out fine, but other times it failed miserably and you were then left stranded alone in his orbit, alternately feigning polite listening to his ridiculous sermons and rants but more often ruing the gods of fate for having put Lil Ol’ U in such an odious, repulsive situation even as you desperately sought some halfway plausible excuse to extricate yourself from his shitty presence…..

I cursed at the foul weather raging outside my living room window this morning, but it didn’t seem to do any good or instantly quiet the hideous maelstrom.  If anything, the wind seemed to pick up even more and the rain beating against my windowpanes reverberated even louder and with greater ferocity than before and phalanxes of small hailstones now gleefully rushed in to join the atmospheric party.  And then I thought to myself: You goddamned, GODDAMNED vile natural elements and fuck—Yes, FUCK!!!—the satanic, iniquitous forces that are masterminding your assault on this tiny patchwork of Earth’s surface this capricious morning.  The weather outside could be nice, the air could be still, the sun could be shining brightly, the birds in the treetops could be singing in perfect harmony, the temperature could be comfortable if not frankly balmy, and yet not a single one of those preconditions is true or even remotely close to reflecting reality. NOT ONE!!! So next a question materializes out of nowhere and looms large: Is this shitty, shitty, SHITTY weather directed solely at me for some undetermined reason, or is it rather just an adventitious quirk of nature in this undeniably adventitious universe in which we all reside? I don’t know and never will either.

…..sadly—and the best sign yet of my utter desperation—was the fact the only “real” option left to me now was prayer.  Yes, that’s right, praying the bejesus out of my scared-to-death soul as I target the faint, dying-while-I-type-this hope of scoring a much-desired goal which I otherwise exercise zero control over achieving.  Frightening thought, huh?  And profoundly discouraging too. Now, I don’t purposefully wish to disparage praying and I personally hold no grudge or antipathy against doing so or against those who ceremoniously “rely” on it in their day-to-day lives, but in total honesty, if you have exhausted all of your proactive steps toward reaching a coveted objective and prayer is consequently your last resort for securing a favorable outcome, I would delicately point out that there ain’t a whole lot of reason for optimism at such a belated stage of the game. You may as well be throwing darts in pitch blackness or rushing out to buy a shitload of Powerball lottery tickets when the payout is sitting in excess of one billion dollars. And if by some miracle your prayer is answered…..who’s to say that wouldn’t have been the natural outcome anyway? Credit where due, but that’s impossible to acknowledge when you have no idea who the creditor is.…..

…..who IS that young, buff, dynamic guy in the old, dated photographs I retrieved from a shoebox in the back of my bedroom closet anyway?  Do you recognize him?  Is he someone you remember from the past?  Any clues to his identity? Distinctive features? Should you know the undeniably striking fellow?  Upon further scrutiny, I guess he kind of bears a passing resemblance to the you of today, but that is all it is; the resemblance is scant at best.  And then some heartless apparition materializes from out of the firmament and reminds me that the youthful person in the picture is indeed Yours Truly, and I can’t help but be flabbergasted. Everyone knows passing time is a nefarious thief who steals away the profuse majority of human perquisites and peccadilloes as we grow older, but to witness firsthand that bodily deterioration in a photograph from decades ago is a brutal slap in the face regardless.  We all grow old and pay a punitive price for this drawn-out natural process—True!—but does that cruel, gross degradation have to be preserved so starkly in photographs that last forever?  Couldn’t the stark bastards lie or, at the bare minimum, conceal the harsh truth just a trifle? I somewhat sadly realize the answer to this rhetorical question is an unequivocal “No!” in light of the fact I am holding irrefutable evidence to the contrary in my hands right now, and that evidence is not subtle or feeling-sparing in the least…..

“Hope” has to be the most scurrilous, least understood word in the English language.  Why?  Because if your only recourse is to “hope” for a specific outcome, then by definition that means you have no actual control over the situation facing you.  You are effectively powerless and left to pitifully “hope” for a result that you exercise zero control over.  As a result…..how can a feeble state of affairs like that leave anyone feeling good about their prospects?  And how then can the word “hope” be seen as anything other than an unsold lottery ticket? The correct answer: It cannot.  Hope is toothless; hope is meaningless; hope is a useless blank in a chamber otherwise loaded with live rounds.

Reward passion wherever and whenever you can.  Passion is inarguably the greatest character trait in existence “out there”, thus contribute to its development whenever an opportunity surfaces, wherever an opportunity surfaces, and in whomever you happen to notice its embryonic contours forming.  Rewarding passion is not unlike throwing money into the offertory tray when it is passed around in church on Sunday mornings during worship services; you might harbor reservations regarding precisely how your hard-earned cash will be spent, yet you nonetheless feel good about contributing to an assumed altruistic fund.  Indulging passion wherever it manifests amounts to the same thing; you’ll feel good and never regret doing so.

If he wasn’t good enough for the past, he sure as hell ain’t good enough for the present. The present is more complicated and challenging and multifaceted than the past ever was, ergo if he wasn’t capable of clearing the modest height the bar was set at “back then” then he conclusively isn’t up to the task in today’s faster-paced world.  If ya weren’t good enough when you were younger and more athletic and more robust and more virile and your brain was undeniably more plastic, why in God’s name would you think you are more capable today?  Huh?!  That was a rhetorical question, by the way, and if you didn’t realize something so simple the answer is a resounding “You ain’t better at doing anything once you pass the age threshold of sixty, You Vain Dipshit, other than shitting your pants and misplacing your reading glasses and forgetting when to take your mini-arsenal of medications!”  Thus please (And I’m only feigning politeness here as a tribute to propriety) do NOT pretend otherwise and masquerade as some sort of dynamic leader who is indispensable to humanity’s well-being. Your ship sailed long ago even if you forgot to book passage on it.

When I was young I thought I knew everything; I was absolutely convinced of it; there was no surer thing in the world! I now know I was sadly mistaken and knew basically nothing.  This new awareness that settled over me over the course of many decades has invested me with great wisdom and valuable insights, but those individuals who know everything nowadays—the youth of society, of course—treat me as an irrelevant relic terminally infected with advancing, incurable senility. They don’t want or appreciate advice from a doddering old man, just as I never wanted any “words of wisdom” from irrelevant ancients when I was their age either. The concept that as you grow older you grow wiser seems like a logical premise certainly, but to callow individuals it reeks of a bald rationalization.

All news is good news even when it clearly isn’t; there is no such thing as “bad” news. The receipt of any outside information that’ll help inform future decision-making is beneficial, even when that information is the polar opposite of what you were hoping to hear. There is no “bad” news; every tidbit of knowledge you come across helps sculpt future decisions and that is intrinsically and inarguably a good thing.

I cursed at the foul weather raging outside my living room window this morning, but it didn’t seem to do any good or instantly quiet the hideous maelstrom.  If anything, the wind seemed to pick up even more and the rain beating against my windowpanes reverberated even louder and with greater ferocity than before.  And then I thought to myself: You goddamned, GODDAMNED vile natural elements and fuck—Yes, FUCK!!!—the satanic, iniquitous forces that are masterminding your assault on this tiny patchwork of Earth’s surface this capricious morning.  The weather outside could be nice, the air could be still, the sun could be shining brightly, the birds in the treetops could be singing in perfect harmony, the temperature could be comfortable if not balmy, and yet not a single one of those preconditions is true or even remotely close to reflecting reality.  So next the question automatically looms: Is this shitty, shitty, SHITTY weather directed solely at me for some undetermined reason, or is it rather just an adventitious quirk of nature in this undeniably adventitious universe in which we all reside?