How Heavy Kevy, Fool, and Fatal1ty showed me the light
- and then showed me the door.

FOR A WHILE, I had expectations and dreams. I started my writing career at an early age, so I was almost always the youngest guy in the newsroom. Like an up-and-coming athlete, I was a prospect - a little raw, maybe, but with enough promise that people would usually say things like, "You'll go places, kid." I never went anywhere. Well, I went to Dallas, but that's about it.

Recently, I turned 30 and abandoned the idea of becoming the next Joseph Heller and started thinking about becoming the next Bazooka Joe - I could, you know, maybe start penning those comic strips that are wrapped around bubble gum. That seems like solid work. The truth is, when I take stock of my life, it seems a little sad. I figured I'd be married by this point; instead, I recently ended a serious three-year relationship. I thought I'd own a spectacular home on a beach somewhere, but in reality, I rent an apartment, and you have to walk down an alley and past two dumpsters to get there. I thought I'd have a dog (I have an obese cat) and that I'd be famous (nope) and mature (definitely not).

This is my version of a midlife crisis.

I realize that all of this means I won't live very long, but, as my father was fond of saying, "Que sera, sera." However, there is a positive side: All this self-evaluation has led to a sort of epiphany. I've figured out a way to get my act together - to get back on track and point myself toward something meaningful. Sure it's a little cliché to have a midlife crisis and then snap out of it with some grand discovery, but wait until you hear my idea. Ready?