In a way, watching an attractive, potentially dangerous guy play guitar is a little like watching a tiger agree to do tricks for his trainer. You know that they could just turn and kill you. But you’re so flattered and pleased that instead they agreed to stand on a decorative box and wave and count for the crowd that for a while you forget how big the scary part of them really is.

The phrase “singular incredible life” seems to me that it applies more appropriately to Jane Goodall or David Attenborough, people I regard with awe and who stand for great humanism and knowledge.

A more complex – but only slightly more original – way to feel out of it is available at the hip and pretentious nightclubs and bars along the Sunset Strip.

Reality television is a scripted hyper-life that employs writers, but won’t allow them to call themselves writers or join the union.

When anyone lacks self-awareness and doesn’t recognize their transparencies, it’s always funny.

A wacky, trendy outfit on a guy over 40 indicates he’s got big issues.

Some people know that they are so adorable looking, all they have to do is smile and dress up and they get plenty from that. Then there are some of us who, early on, see that that doesn’t work. So we joke about it.

Since – in my belief system – we each get only one go-round here on planet Earth, it is the task of the writer to interpret, examine, and reflect on the specifics of their one and only life experience.

I don’t like the celebrity gossip culture, and I certainly don’t want to contribute to it. I don’t care about the Kardashians, or any of them.

Beware the man who doesn’t ask you any questions about yourself on your first date.