Well, that didn’t turn out how I expected… And that’s not a bad thing. It’s not a sour assessment filled with regrets and wanting, too many missed opportunities (you know the kind, “If I’d only invested in… I could’ve just…”), but I mean, holy hell what a ride! And, as of this moment, I’m only 35. So, on the conservative estimate of things I’ve got like three more of these to go. It’s crazy just how much life you get to live, you know, if you don’t die young and keep an eye on your cholesterol, and you live in this country, and you’re a white dude like me with a boatload of opportunity, then you can kind of expect around 80 plus years of this. Which, in case nobody ever told you, 80 years are too much life and just the right amount of life, simultaneously. It’s good if you take care of yourself. It’s shit if you don’t. Snap a hip at 70 and just watch the slow descent into pain, obscurity, and an ever-present inability to take care of yourself, and you’ll be staring down that weekly pill calendar wondering how if you just take ‘em all you won’t ever have to see Dr. Paulsen again.
Okay, I apologize. I’m sorry. Really. We haven’t talked in a while, and I don’t want to rush things, but considering that there’s a pandemic going on right now, maybe death and mortality have me asking myself questions like, “Am I wasting this life? Am I wasting this awesome body of mine that was clearly sculpted from marble like a Greek God? Is my temple cared for? Does Instagram matter, I mean truly matter in some sort of powerful, meaningful way? Why does my back always hurt now that I’m in my thirties? And my hip? And my ankle? Why aren’t my finances what I’d thought they’d be? Will I die of coronavirus? Is there anything better than morning sex, coffee, and a hot shower? What’s the best order for those three things? Have I made out my will? Should I call my lawyer? Do I even have a lawyer?”
Alright, alright, alright, I’m calming down, no need to write all down in one giant breath. You know that feeling when you had too many weed gummies, and your friend is looking at you like, “You gonne be okay, man?” And you’re like, “Yeah, man, I’m okay,” but inside you know that you absolutely aren’t going to be okay, and as a matter of fact you’d really like it if he would’ve told you earlier that those were that strong, and holy shit he did tell you, he did, he did you a solid, and what did you do? You fucking ignored him. Didn’t you? And then you’re just concentrating on breathing, because you’re pretty sure that when you said the words, “Yeah, man,” in your response, what came out was, “Myyyaa,” and some drool. And now, you’re neck is all hot, and your ears feel like their burning, and you’re totally, unequivocally, 100 percent sure that you’re about to vomit and pass out, and man oh man are you glad that you’re still friends with _____, because if you weren’t you’d be sleeping on the curb tonight in a pile of vomit until a cop picked you up and took you to the drunk tank.
Aren’t your thirties fun?
Seriously though, I got a beer in front of me, and it ain’t my first, it’s a Monday in the tenth month of the year of the Pangolin, I ain’t got no job, and I got an early bike ride scheduled for tomorrow morning to go across the Golden Gate Bridge of gorgeous-always-sunny-never-foggy-or-windy-or-bone-chillingly-cold San Francisco. I’m almost out of money, my apartment is way too expensive, and we’re living in this weird phase of the pandemic where everyone seems to just have agreed that so long as they can go to a bar and get a fucking drink they’ll wear a mask in CVS. And we’re still paying full price, if not more, to drink in the street now. They call them “Parklets,” but I know that’s just a fancy word for street. They’re forcing us to do what we’ve always dreamed of doing. Street drinks—like the homeless, and the people of New Orleans. Goddamn liberals and their Goddamn science.
The last book I wrote on this subject had to do with school. Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha. Holy shit. What a small, feeble minded creature I was back then, almost 11 or 2 years ago, maybe more, I cannot recall exactly how long has passed. Thinking that a subject such as college would be a timeless, worthwhile endeavor. I could help people, I thought. Tell them the techniques that worked for me, to help them get good grades. And in hindsight, I may have even provided some solid tips for us energetic, distractible types, but what a small subject, what a niche as it were? We must be bold, middle-aged Padawan, we must reach for the proverbial
bottle, ahem, stars. We must face life’s challenges with gusto and verve and all of the other shit that nobody ever tells you to face life’s challenges with, like positivity and stoicism and yoga. A good heart. A working knowledge of female anatomy. Why compound interest is really the ninth wonder of the world, and what that means for your financial future you beautiful, distractible solar flare of a human.
Anyways, I think I’ll include an index at some point. That way there’ll be a road map of sorts, a guide for you to follow, and a guide for me to remember what subjects I’m supposed to be writing, what topic I should be addressing at any given moment. And so, if you’re reading this, I just want to tell you personally, that you should take everything written here with an enormous grain of salt, because one thing that I’ve learned in the past 10 to 15 years is that I don’t know shit. I know more than I did, but my friends, let me tell you, that still ain’t shit. And, I gotta be honest pal-o’-mine, that feels like a pretty good start.
 There’s my one exclamation point. I’ve used it. That’s it. God bless Strunk and White.
 Who’s Dr. Paulsen, you ask? He’s the guy that since the hip accident has been giving you whatever drugs you ask for, because he’s tired of telling you that if you don’t do your rehab exercises, you’re never going to walk again, and if you stop walking, you’re going to die about 15 years prior to your cohort’s average life expectancy.
 “You know what my favorite thing about high school girls is, right?”
 Enter trustworthy friend’s name here.
 Deep breath
 As I write this, I’m pretty sure universities are on the brink, and YouTubEversity will replace most if not all Ivy Leagues.
 Please, I beg of you, reserve judgment until you’ve read more than just the intro. I’m not saying it’s worth it, I’m just asking you to suspend the gavel.