Incommunicado

Life had been like a well-paved one-way street for our hero. Each step he took was well-marked, a Twister board with footprints of the same color and direction. Educational choices were preordained. Career choices fell at his feet. Romance was never easy but always seemed to work out its issues before our hero had time to grow too-long a beard.

The Fates were always in communication on the Mexican Radio, broadcasting pirated versions of other people's lives. Our hero listened, followed direction, and never feared. Greek tragedies--Oedipus and the like--always seemed like the work of old guys in robes who had a bit too much of the monks' beer.

Now, our hero walks down that road and the Mexican Radio is broadcasting a constant loop from a drug cartel. The cartel has taken over all the airwaves and the Fates are incommunicado. I never trusted the Mexican government to hold on.

Our hero's hair is long, his five o'clock shadow is becoming evident, and the Fates aren't talking. The only clarity comes in a message from inside our hero's head: It's all on you now, Chopstick.

What a screw job.

If Life As a Lucky Guy had a manual, Chapter 13 would be titled "Hah! We Got You, Sucka."

A message to my future children: Never take the easy stream for granted, for some day it will divide into 87 different tributaries and all of them will be a Class 5 rapid.

(Editor's note: If this disjointed blather has you scratching your head, your comments should be directed to this question: Any idea what the hell I should do with my life?)