for all mythsters to enjoy...
_____________________
All of you should have heard the hit song about using sunscreen. Here
is a
variation that might amuse you:
Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '98:
Don't drink white zinfandel.
Even if you like it. If I could offer you only one tip for the
future, this would be it. The fact that drinking white zin causes
individuals to earn
irreversible reputations for bad taste has been proven by sociologists
the
world over.
The rest of my advice, on the other hand, has no basis more reliable
than
chain e-mail sent to me when I really should have been working. I
will
dispense this advice to you now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your virility. Oh, never mind. You will
not
understand the power and beauty of your virility until you're choking
on
Viagara like a frigging multi-vitamin. But trust me, in 20 years,
you'll
look back at your sexual prowess and it'll hit you in a way that you
can't
grasp now how it's not so bad to come too early-and how fabulous it is
to
come at all.
Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is
about
as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation while reading
Salman
Rushdie's The Satanic Verses backwards while balancing a plate on your
head. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never
crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some
idle
Tuesday, when you decide to surprise your wife and come home from work
early, and your best friend's Corvette is parked in the driveway.
Do one thing every day that scares the shit out of you. Like walking
into
South Central L.A. with a hood on your head.
Fart.
Don't be reckless with other people's cars, especially if they're more
expensive than your own. Don't put up with people who are reckless with
yours, unless they have lots of insurance.
Get drunk.
Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes
you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, you can always get
plastic surgery and trade up anyway.
Remember compliments you receive. Return insults a thousandfold. If
you
succeed in doing this, tell me how. I love a good laugh.
Keep your old love letters. The love letters will remind you of how
your
wife wasn't always a nagging bitch. Throw away old bank statements.
Especially the ones from the secret account your wife knows nothing
about.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what to do with your life. The
most
interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with
their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still
don't.
They tell me about it all the time as they wrap themselves up in a
blanket
and roll their shopping carts down Broadway in Santa Monica, mumbling
"skittles, skittles, skittles."
Get plenty of calcium. Maybe you'll be featured in a "Got Milk" ad and
make lots of money, like Steve Young, and Jennifer Love-Hewitt.
Be kind to your knees. Be kind to your breasts. You'll miss them
when
your breasts are at your knees.
Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe
you
won't. And maybe you're going to be the one that saves me, and after
all,
you're my wonderwall.
Remember that you can't congratulate yourself too much, or berate other
people enough. Life is half chance, so if you come out ahead, God must
love you more than other people.
Dance, even if you're white.
Don't read directions. They're just a ploy engineered by paper
manufacturers to sell unnecessary paper to the world.
Do not read beauty magazines. Porn is much more fun.
Get to know your parents. They're always good for a couple of bucks
when
you're in between jobs.
Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past, and
might
make more money than you in the future.
Understand that friends come and go, but Star Trek on UPN is forever.
So are a few good friends. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography
and
lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who
remember you when you had hair.
Live in New York City once, but leave before someone ties you up in
your
apartment and chops your head off.
Live in Northern California once, but leave before you start wearing
leather and hanging out with people named "Bruce."
Burp.
Accept certain inalienable truths: You will always work too hard, for
too
little money. Your wife's boobs will sag. So will yours. Prices will
soar, and no matter how much money you make, you won't be able to
afford to
buy the house you really, really want. You, too, will get old, and
when
you do, you will fantasize that when you were young, your wife's boobs
didn't sag, prices were reasonable, and you didn't care how much money
you
had, because living in a filthy apartment with four other guys
off-campus
with a cabinet full
of Top Ramen and Lucky Lager was all you needed.
Don't expect anyone else to support you. Unless they're really, really
rich.
Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But
you
never know when either one will be dipped into by someone else.
Be careful whose advice you buy, but be liberal with supplying it.
People love that.
Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the
past
from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and
recycling it so that somebody else, younger than you, can get screwed
over
just like you did, and you can point and laugh.
But trust me on the white zinfandel. |
