1) Money. I only know this because no one else on earth will shut up about it. Personally, I do my best to never save a dime. If I die, and I still haven’t made up my mind to do so, you can expect to receive exact zero dollars and zero cents from my vast estate. I invest only in whiskey. I bet only on horses. (Sometimes dogs.) The stock market can pretty much do whatever the fuck it wants, because the only investments I have are ones that are intended for the unlikely event of my retirement. (Imagine me without full-time occupation. The mind reels.)
2) The planet. Yes, yes, I am a giant hippie. This is known. However, I would like to point out to all of you that the planet is where my stuff is, and I really, really like my stuff. Also, don’t give me that crap about how there’s no such thing as global warming – Eric Hanson. When I was a kid, there actually was snow to walk three miles in both ways in bare feet, if one was inclined to pursue the metaphor. Now there’s five minutes of slush and then a hissing sound as the freezy precipitation sublimates directly into gas.
3) Leftovers. I always take these, even when I know I’m not going to eat them. In the past month, for example, I have made wait staff bundle up:
a) A box of extremely greasy french fries.
b) Half a spinach salad. I hate salad.
c) The remainder of Sgt Lucky’s faux mozzarella sammich (with the promise that I would never again make him eat at a vegan restaurant.)
The thing is, you never know when you might need those leftovers, especially when you’re eating before going out to the bar. My pal Tidy, for example, left her fajita at the bar the other night, and was heartbroken. There was every chance she would need that fajita again, perhaps as soon as she got home and the liquor wore off. She immediately began plans to write a book entitled, I Left My Fajita at the Bar. I will be in charge of writing the theme song for the eventual film. I have no musical training whatsoever.