I don’t know who the people in “People” are and I don’t care. I used to, I used to pride myself on being a pop culture expert, but there became so much of it that you couldn’t keep up and then I got so old I realized it wasn’t worth keeping up, that almost nobody cares, that this is how an industry makes itself feel good about itself, promoting faux stars.

I hate “Preview” issues. We know in a matter of hours whether a film is good or bad, why do we have to be hyped months in advance to pique our curiosity?

I realize I wasted a lot of time doing fruitless things. Like going to concerts thinking I could meet women. That’s not why I went, but I believed it was a byproduct and there was just something deficient with me. Now I realize life is about cliques, and it’s hard to jump from one to another. You build your network slowly, and you can only manage so many people, and even though you might have a replica clique in another city, state or country, you’ll never meet them and that’s okay, you can’t know everybody in the world, even though everybody can know you, but that doesn’t make you feel better about yourself.

I love the experience of going to a movie theatre to see a great movie. But I hate the time wasted getting there, parking and waiting for the film to begin. And I hate the audience members who talk and text. And as much as I love the experience, if the movie is not great, I’m frustrated with the time I’ve wasted. I used to be able to watch anything, but that was when films were America’s art form and everybody was shooting for greatness, now commerciality comes first, and the lowest common denominator elements don’t appeal to me. Another Spider-Man, really?

I realize you’re best off marrying/being involved with someone from your own caste. Because they have the same values. And values are everything.

If I throw it out and my memory fades did I even do it?

Traveling is hard, but I want to do it incessantly, it gets me high. Throw me in a new place, let me soak up the culture in a museum and it’s like a blood transfusion.

The pills have side effects. Do I stop taking them to avoid the effects? But then I risk dying. I wonder what goes through the mind of smokers when they hit sixty, when you finally become aware the end is both inevitable and near. Are they scared straight or do they continue to live in denial? I try not to live in denial, but I must admit I’m expecting a benefit therefor. By going to the doctor and doing what he says I expect to live a longer, healthier life. But the truth is DNA counts, and many who ignore their health will live longer than I do, but not many.

We talk about our health. The pills we take, the conditions we have, it comes up in every conversation, and it doesn’t bug us, it’s akin to discussing bands when we were younger.

We hold our tongue at first, but we can’t help from imparting wisdom to those younger than us, but even though they pay attention, they refuse to listen, refuse to take our advice, they’ve got to fail for themselves, unfortunately.

I’m stunned that those who I thought were going to break through career-wise don’t. When I was young I thought everybody wanted to be successful, and I mean the top of their field. Then I learned that many don’t care that much and so many that do care can’t get out of their own way. That’s what therapy’s for, but they can’t go, because then they’d have to admit there’s something wrong, and their egos are so fragile they can’t.

Everyone peaks, everyone’s forgotten. David Geffen’s nearly retired. Sylvester Stallone made “Rocky” thirty five years ago. Is this how it always was? The cultural heroes of today aren’t even footnotes tomorrow?

I vote in every election but I’m starting to believe it makes no difference. Oh, I catch myself, I see how we wouldn’t have been in Iraq if Gore beat Bush, but then I think of how Bush’s team outmaneuvered Gore’s and the Supreme Court handed the Presidency to Bush. And I’m going to get a lot of correction e-mail as a result of writing that, but it ceases to bother me, because who are these people anyway? I only listen to my friends and those with power. Ugly, isn’t it? Or those who deliver information or wisdom.

I no longer want to read bad writing. Information is not the same as writing. Just because you can type, that does not make the result readable. Then again, writing, good writing, is rarely profitable, so the whole Internet is laden with link-bait, which I occasionally click on, illustrating that the Internet terrorists have won.

I don’t want to move. These people who go from house to house, who redecorate and move out, don’t they know time is running out, that you’ve got to enjoy your life because soon it will be gone?

I’m intrigued by appearances but know they don’t count. Just because you’re beautiful, that does not make you nice and compassionate, and that’s all I care about.

Commitment is the key to relationships, but nobody seems to know this.

Kim and Kanye are the number one tabloid fodder, but it’s killed his career in the process. Is this karma?

I don’t know whether to get a lighter computer, a MacBook Air, or a more powerful computer, a Mac Pro. They keep changing the paradigm and I’m flummoxed. If I’m in front of the screen all day do I need the fastest, or just one that can do the job?

I don’t want to reconnect with everybody I ever knew, but I do want to stalk them online to see what they are up to.

I hate hype, but hype is more prevalent than ever before.

Once upon a time I knew every restaurant in Los Angeles, now I read “Los Angeles  Magazine” about the twenty five best and have been to few and when I start contemplating tackling the list I say…no. Then again, I’ll go to multiple Triple-D establishments. But I know what Guy Fieri is selling. But maybe that’s my personality. Rather than experience the best, I like something that’s great for a price. But I’ve got the other side of my personality too, in that when something is inexpensive, I want to pay extra for the best. Don’t give me supermarket cookies, I want to go to the boutique. And I’ll eat Ben & Jerry’s before anything labeled “ice milk,” no matter what the price.

I’m stunned that people are so much like me but yet so different. Last night the four of us spontaneously started talking about therapy and our relationship issues, but I’m not a bro, and it’s hard to accept who you are, who I am.

America is about making you feel inadequate. And this rarely works on me anymore. Because I know all those people propagating their superior image are lying. It costs nothing to lie, and the media likes it, because it’s outrageous, but the truth is sex and TV are the same for all of us, and there’s always someone who’s got more money than you.

The experts at the Apple Store no longer are. I want to soak up information, but this is hard when I know more than they do.

I’m a sucker for information, for your story. I want to hear everybody’s story, from the homeless person to the billionaire, because that’s what life’s about, the victories, the hurts, and within said stories is wisdom. And the older I get the smarter I become. But the older you get in America the more irrelevant you become. Because you don’t take the bait. Young people believe politicians are running for the good of the country, not themselves. That the book, movie, record being hyped is actually good. That their life will be better if they’re just skinnier and better-looking. But the truth is life is about acceptance. But that doesn’t necessarily make you happy. But older people are much happier than younger ones, it’s been proven. But no one wants proof anymore. They just want emotion, ranting and raving by those with an agenda. So as you start to age, you tune out, realizing the circus is all for naught. And you start to focus on what truly gets you off. But you’re haunted by the specter of death. By the feeling that not only may you be missing something, but that you played your life completely wrong. But you’re too old to do anything about it.