It's not quite moping, it's not quite dwelling. It's brooding. And sometimes it's exactly what a man needs to do.

I'd give you a list of my troubles, but then you'd e-mail me solutions, and I hate that. See, I think about my troubles. I sit in the corner of a coffee shop and think as hard as I can. Sometimes I'll do it at my desk or as I'm walking. I shut the world out. I brood. And I like it.

When people approach me, I stare at them in the most neutral way I can. Blank. This seems to offend some, mostly those who see every moment as some light socket of human engagement that you'd better darned-well stay plugged in to if you want to get the most out of life. But a deep brood lets me sink the grappling hooks into jealousy, anger, and bitterness before I speak again. New-agers tell you this stuff eats you up, so give me time to let it go, my way. I don't need forever. Just a few minutes.