Slouching into Oblivion

What I would tell my 20 year old self if I could pass along what I know now. Make friends. Real friends. No more than a handful of people you would feel comfortable playing poker with over the phone. These are the people who will get on a plane in the middle of the night to come and bail you out of jail. If you are lucky, you might find three of these in your life. These are your real friends. If you ever get good at anything, make it reading people. It should take you no more than 30 seconds to know if someone is real or a pretender. Actually, you never really know, but if you stop thinking you will feel it. Learn to trust your feelings. Going out so you won’t be alone is waste of valuable time. It may keep you from being bored or it may make you feel important. But you are not important, so if you hang around with people who kiss your ass but don’t really mean anything to you, ask yourself “why?” Being alone is a fact. Being lonely is a decision. Stay debt free. Don’t owe anyone an

I quit work. I would say I “retired” but that would indicate I am too old to work and have a pension of some value. Neither is true. I’m not too old to work if only because four decades of experience can’t be replaced by youthful exuberance and there isn’t much pension left since the bank fraud and then dividing up the remains with an ex-wife who went after the money like a wild hyena on meth. But what I have now is more valuable than a pension: a need for less, mostly because I live in Mexico where everything is cheaper. And I own a beautiful home I bought with my half of the recent divorce settlement. What a deal! I got 50% of the 100% I earned over a lifetime. I should have known better. Gold diggers are easy to spot but harder to shake. The last one, who I call “Plaintiff,” held on like a leech for nearly three decades until I uttered those fateful words, “Honey, I’m not going to work anymore. I quit.” She nodded and said she quit, too. She quit being married. She

Lupe is single mother, 4 children, looks a lot younger than she is, and sports a serious work ethic and an opinion on just about everything. Born in Mexico City dirt poor she worked her way up - first high school, then a bachelor’s degree in the military, citizenship, took a couple of years off to get her masters and is now managing an operation for a significant transportation company we happen to both be working for at the moment. She’s tough. Even Big Joe defers and it is best not to look at her in the eyes unless you want to hear one of Life’s Lessons According to Lupe. Last night I was packing up when she walked in, slammed her hands flat on my desk, leaned forward, and said nothing. I glanced up and our eyes met if only for a second. That was her key. “Do you know the problem with most people?” she asked, point blank. “Yes, I do,” I replied, which apparently was not the answer she was looking for. “Well, let me tell you,” she said in way that sounded like, “I don’t give a

I can’t remember a time in my life when the world appeared so close to Armageddon. Well, maybe once during the Cuban missile crisis of 1962. But I was a young boy then and didn’t really understand much except that I was made to crawl under my desk at school for reasons that were never explained. No one ever threatened to actually use their nukes, as I recall, but their sheer proximity was enough to laser focus an entire nation on that existential threat. Today, we face an authoritarian fascist with much more powerful weapons who openly threatens to use them. We also have climate change pointing to the extinction of life on earth, something unheard of during the happy days of the 60’s. Today, if you read the news, no one seems particularly concerned about the melting of the earth, either through nuclear war or the impact of greenhouse gases. Rather, most seem far more interested in the current meltdown of the stock market. While few know or care that a Russian first strike w

I am going to say something that many feel, but would never admit openly, knowing the shit they would take. So, friends, I’ll say it and take the ass-kicking for all of us. I don’t like children. Not specific children, so much, but just a general distaste for the species. Kind of like hyenas on speed. I don’t know any hyenas up close and personal, but I don’t care for them either. Why? I find most kids to be boring, manipulative, dirty, and out of control. Yeah, I said it. Hear me out. That’s not really a criticism. Kids should be boring. They have limited life experience upon which to reflect and render informed observations and opinions. “I want to be a fireman, Uncle Jim.” (Side note: I insist all children call me “uncle” even though I am of no relation or I am their grandfather. It makes me feel younger and acts to confuse them, which I enjoy. “Take my word for it,” I whisper, and put a dollar in their little paws, “I am your Mother’s brother. Think about