Worrying about what to call somebody is just about as foolish as having something else to be called in the first place. For example, in-laws should always be addressed in the second person. What father of what bride does not at least expect, on some level, for the man who steals his kid from him forever to call him, “Hey, you,” and nothing ever else?

Look, I’m just in a foul mood lately. Pay no attention to me. I’m much more happy draining flashlight batteries at the hardware store than doing most of the other things there are to do in this modern hell. For example, the oil catastrophe. If there are no flashlights, then there is nothing with which one might illuminate the darkness abroad. Trust me, it makes perfect sense. Every time.

I am skeptical of commuter rail toll collectors who stare at the crumbs at your feet as though that must have been your bagel, when in reality you don’t have the stomach these days for anything but celery, melted ice cream and the occasional baby kosher dill pickle (when the taste of dill pickles hasn’t been spoiled for you by, uh, dill pickles).

Some day soon I know I will no longer be Puff Daddy of this world. I just won’t have that ability. Maybe I will slow down. Maybe I’ll just get too old. I believe the age limit is forty these days- then you are considered a “writer” and not a “young writer.”

What I’m saying is I’ve been selfish. I’ve been living in this skin like it was mine. It isn’t. It’s Puff Daddy’s. One day I hope somebody finds it sloughed on a highway and puts it on. Maybe it’ll get buried under miles of sediment and a few million years later the planet will be so grateful it’ll puke. Maybe I will lie in state for fifty years like Mao. Or, not me. Puff Daddy.

Whatever happens, I know I will not be the last Puff Daddy of this world: I am only the most recent, least experienced practitioner of a beautiful tradition. There will be Puff Daddys after me, abolishing bagels and chewing celery, winsomely. Whatever will happen is exactly what we need, I think. Any of those would be, I think, fair. Or at least enough.