Everything I need to know, I learned from Boogie Nights

(A.K.A: W.W.D.D.D?)

Sometimes the world doesn’t make a lot of sense.

My last university tenured someone and gave her a distinguished chair position after only about half the time usually required for tenure because she was the last person left with half a brain. Had it given those out to the people who actually did leave, the school would have been better off and wouldn’t be stuck filling three more positions.

A raving psychotic is likely to not only get his way in my current job but destroy our department as well.

My best friend got a jump on her mid-life crisis by doing something she always wanted to do, while my mid-life crisis is stalled because a) I hate tattoos and b) it needs to be fed with a classic Mustang I can’t afford. Meanwhile, the Missus just spent $89 on yarn for three pairs of socks while I’m stockpiling Diet Coke because I found a 5 12 packs for $10 coupon.

The long and thoughtful post I’ve been working on this week on the idiocy that was WaPo and the subsequent fall out has been trumped by Ms. A’s brilliance, thus making it pointless to post my version.

And while it seems like you couldn't name anything any other former VP has ever done in life, Dick Cheney is still creating problems.

So you might ask, “Doc, where can we turn when the world is so bat-shit crazy?”

My answer: “Boogie Nights, of course.”

Never has there been a film that more clearly defines what to do and what not to do in tense times. No other film has been as clearly inspiring or filled with fortune-cookie wisdom as P.T. Anderson’s magnum opus. The Missus and I ended up seeing this on one of our earliest dates, although that was inadvertent, given that I thought it was a story about 1970s disco movements. Of all the great moments, the best was in the theater during the scene in which we finally saw “it” exposed. The guy in front of me scoffed at the mammothity that was Dirk Diggler, saying something to the effect of “I’m close to that big” to which his girlfriend broke out in uncontrollable laughter.

Still, below is a list of all the things you can learn if you watch carefully:

Everyone is blessed with one special thing.

If you have to tell everyone “I’m the biggest f***ing star here,” chances are you’re clinging to an illusion. (Ms. A and I used to call this the “I’m the editor-in-chief” corollary, named as such after one of our least favorite bosses.)

Lesbian-style ‘70s mullets never worked on anyone, least of all William H. Macy.

If the life-changing speech of you are delivering in a fit of rage includes the lines, “I don’t know what I’ll do but I’ll do something.” And “You don't know what I can do! You don't know what I can do, what I'm gonna do, or what I'm gonna be! I'm good! I have good things and you don't know about! I'm gonna be something! I am!” something bad is about to happen to you.

Nobody f***s with Chest and Brock.

Contrary to popular belief, it’s difficult to concentrate what your work schedule will look like tomorrow after you notice your wife’s with another man and she has “an ass in her cock in the driveway.”

If you work at a car wash and you work at a nightclub, school should occur to you.

The best things in life are made from real imported Italian nylon.

If you’re going to buy a stereo, make sure it comes with the TK421 modification.

When coming up with a pseudonym, you should think of something that’s razor sharp, you know, something that could cut glass. If you can see a name in your mind written in bright blue neon with purple detail and it blows up because it’s so sharp, that’s even better.

If a girl a) will have sex with you at the behest of an older man who is watching b) has sex to an at-the-ready theme song and c) doesn’t take her skates off, either run away or make sure you’re wearing a titanium condom.

It takes two seconds to wash a vagina. You want it clean, don’t you?

After you’ve had a chick OD twice in two days on you, it’s time to get some new stuff.

The cowboy look is not coming back, but you should wear what you dig.

Nothing completes and Asian dojo-themed bedroom like a Vegas dice clock.

If Floyd Gondolli tells you something is going to happen, you take it to the bank.

Either cocaine or the 1980s caused everything bad that ever happened ever.

Don’t cheat on your spouse or they will shoot you.

If the porn thing doesn’t work out, you can always fall back on your magic tricks as a secondary career option and have sex on your own time.

Whenever people are trying to bring you down, remember that it’s just like what happened to Napoleon when he was king and people kept trying to conquer him in the Roman Empire. It’s just history repeating itself all over again.

In life, you are likely to run into more YPs than MPs.

The Colonel was the nickname of Elvis’ manager and Elvis had a daughter who married Michael Jackson who was alleged to have diddled kids which is how the Colonel in this movie got arrested. Life comes full circle.

Going out on a limb is a big risk. When you tell people you’re ready to shoot now, you’d better be able to deliver.

You are not the king of me. I am the king of Dirk.

You’ve got the touch. You’ve got the power. When all hell’s breaking loose, you’ll be right in the eye of the storm.

In life, don’t just feel my heat. Feel, feel, feel, FEEEEEEL, feel my heat.

Even if the tapes are owned by someone else, the magic, the heart and soul on the tapes are the property of the vocalist.

If you want a loan, even with good credit, you should probably refrain from listing your work as a porn actor.

Even in 1983, at the height of the “maternal rights” movement, it’s kind of hard to give full custody of a child to a coked-up sex fiend who works in porn.

Whether it’s the result of a botched armed robbery of a donut store or a drug lord who doesn’t know baking soda from cocaine, you should always feel free to take advantage of an inequitable situation.

Plans hatched by strung-out, out-of-work male strippers involving a half of a key of baking soda and a .45-caliber semi-automatic pistol aren’t likely to lead to a positive outcome.

Never mess with a guy wearing a Speedo, a silk bathrobe and a giant gold Rolex. Especially if he’s got a black man-servant and a Chinese boy toy who loves fireworks.

When your leader says, “We came here to motherf***ing do something and we can f***ing do it. Are you with me?” you should not be with him, especially when weaponry is involved.

It never hurts to say you’re sorry, even if it’s to your surrogate father who used you in porn before throwing you away and the woman who helped start you on a four-year coke-fueled downward spiral.

And finally, count the money in the car.