Advice

I've often advised. But no one wants my advice.

I know certain things that have value. Just like when you go to the race track and you're looking for a hot tip, there's a certain type of character to whom you will naturally lend a ear when they mention "Twinkie Defense" in the fourth race, but to only buy a place ticket.

There is a certain milieu in which I am that type of character. It has nothing to do with dress or appearance, but with my gaze. (Kathy Griffin and her Gaze...) I take a certain amount of pride in this, but not as much pride as that morning when I walked out of my first Screamer's apartment, there on the West Side of LA. Okay, actually it was in the Palms District. I think the neighbor's started fearing my appearance at the front gate of her complex. And she was very petite! Who knew?!

Anyway, I often get called to advise and I do a good job because it's about something everyone agrees I know.

But I know lots of other things, too! But did my niece ask me for advice about her new boyfriend's tattoos? Nope.

Did my wife ask me for advice when her best friend accused her of trying to sabotage her latest attempt to sucker some man into living with her? Nope.

Did my second oldest son ask me for advice when his possible future father-in-law lost his job and wanted to move his family into Roby's apartment "temporarily"? Nope.

Did Katrocket ask me for advice before she (- - - - - - censored - - - - - -)? Another big, fat NOPE! Geez, who couldn't have seen that coming!!

I'm not saying that I have the answers, but if what I see going on around me is any indication, no one really listens to advice anyway. But it would have been nice to be asked.