It's a really really great pen, though I don't expect that's going to mean anything to anyone else.

 

A lot of folks reading this website have come to expect great things from me, clever and funny things that maybe people don't normally think about, except, apparently, when they're on drugs. Or that's what everyone keeps telling me. For those of you who have come to expect such great things from me, I guess the best advice I can give you is to lower your expectations.

 

So many problems could be averted...political, personal, financial...if we all just learned to do this. Most of our problems come from expecting things to be better than they are, instead of just learning to accept that they're always going to suck.

 

Now, I'm not one of those fatalists who believes that we shouldn't do anything because nothing has any meaning and the universe is descending into chaos and all matter and energy will one day exist as white noise and useless background radiation. I still believe we should better ourselves and our communities, but it's a fine line between being content with what one has in a zen-like state of acceptance, and just totally not giving a crap about anything at all. And I believe in love, and justice, and God and Heaven, and even if none of these things are real I think I'd just as soon go on believing in the illusion of them and enjoying the time that I have. From time to time some intellectual pinhead will make that case to me, that we're all going to die and nothing means anything, but I say, even if that's true, I still choose to believe anyway...and the way I see it, even if I'm wrong, I haven't lost anything and I'm still better off than having been miserable my whole life.

 

So, like, whatever.

 

It's kind of like my pants. I have these black jeans that are faded just right, they fit real loose and they're just so soft and comfortable. They even have a pocket on the leg so that I can reach for my wallet while I'm sitting in my car. They're the most awesome pants ever.

 

So I go to this Christmas party at my friend Alex's house. The same Christmas Eve party I've been going to at Alex's house since we were 15 years old. What's changed since I was 15 years old is 1) these totally awesome pants, and 2) Alex's wife Susan.

 

I don't mean to say it like it's a bad thing. I love Susan, and I think she and Alex are great for each other. And I like her even when I disagree with her. Like now. Because as I'm sitting there in my great pants, Alex makes a smart-ass comment about how he wasn't allowed to wear jeans. Single guys, apparently, wear jeans to Christmas parties. Married guys...well, don't.

 

Susan says that if I was with a good woman and wanted to keep her happy, I wouldn't wear those pants. Even if they are the greatest pants I ever wore and they look great on me and dammit I don't have that much else going for me. I say, if I'm ever with another woman again, I'd want a woman who would love and accept me and my pants and my kids and my dog.

 

My women friends all agree with Susan here, and say I should be more willing to compromise. I say, I am perfectly willing to compromise, as long as we agree that compromise is defined as "a settlement of differences in which each side makes concessions" and not "stupid man does what he's told and woman gets her way".

 

What do I know, I'm divorced. It's not that I would make an issue out of pants; if I really cared about someone, I would change my pants. We'd just have to reach some kind of balance I guess, and a much better one than me and my ex-wife were ever able to reach.

 

Maybe all I need to do is start dating one of those atheists who's all fatalistic and believes that the world is all chaos and nothing means anything. That way, it won't matter what kind of pants I'm wearing..

 

Wow.

 

I really like this pen.

 

And these pants.