I know I am, but what are you?

(Editor’s note: Jessica Zafra is a seasoned columnist, radio host and magazine wrangler (Flip, Manila Envelope). She joins our YS roster this week).

Forecast: Mostly calm and clear, but with a 75-percent chance of aggravation brought on by high humidity; taxi drivers who refuse to make change; fluctuations in blood sugar levels. Slight chance of an existential crisis triggered by comments like "You don’t sound like yourself."

1. If you’ve never read me in your entire life, good for you – skip the first two items. If you have read me, we need to get a few things out of the way.

a. If I were half as angry as I was supposed to be, my head would’ve burst into flame sometime in the late 1990s, or I would’ve embarked on a killing rampage at the turn of this century. Show me the bodies. Where are they?

b. I have a particular loathing of the word "angst." That word haunts me like a turd that refuses to get flushed. It’s so grunge-era, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve put away the flannel plaid. I still wear Doc Martens, though. (What? They’re comfortable.)

c. You thought I was about to burst a blood vessel; I thought I was being funny.

d. Look up the word "irony."

e. Sure I wear black. And red, purple, green, orange, and even – gasp – white. But not pink. Please, not pink.

f. Yes, I own a sword. No, it’s too bulky to carry under a jacket. Also, it sets off metal detectors and is a general source of inconvenience.

g. I’ve noticed that when I am polite or even pleasant, people seem disappointed. Therefore I shall strive, when approached, to act as if I’m about to rip your head off. Not that I’m actually going to divest you of your body parts. Manila is dirty enough without your blood and entrails pooling on the ground.

h. Now that "bitch" is almost a compliment, I’m not going anywhere near it.

i. Of course you’re going to be disappointed! You can’t bring back the past. It’s 2006, not 1994. It’s not just that I’ve changed, but you are no longer the person you used to be. You’ve aged.

j. Writing a column is like therapy, except that you not only get paid to do it, but you get to inflict your state of mind on others.

2. I get a lot of e-mail from readers, mostly high school and college students. Here are the answers to frequently-asked questions.

a. I’m not going to do your homework. I don’t really know why I wrote what I wrote, so good luck speculating on my motives.

b. I’m sorry I can’t read your manuscript and comment on it, as I have a personal reading backlog of 35 to 40 books. I have to get through them before my cats start using the stacks of books as a scratching post.

c. "People say I write like you" is not a compliment. It is an insult. Go back to the person who told you that and tell her that if she’s too lazy to think of a proper description, she should at least respect your individuality.

d. All right, here’s some free advice: Read everything you can get your hands on, and keep a journal. Diaries are very useful, especially if you plan to cannibalize your own life for material.

e. When you get older you will realize that you should’ve listened to your parents after all, and gone to medical/law/business school. Writing is not a secure occupation.

f. However, if you really want to write and intend to do it for a living, then the people who try to dissuade you are just as important as the ones who encourage you. They test and strengthen your resolve.

g. Travel is the best way to get to know yourself.

3. The title of this column was borrowed from a song by Tom Waits in his bad-liver, broken-heart period. Mr. Waits has moved on from that phase. I am trying to get away from the column I used to write. (If you miss it, you can get the compilations. There are seven of them, and they’re all in bookstores. I’m not being sarcastic, I mean it. Buy my books.)

a. If you do not know who Tom Waits is, perhaps it’s time to expand your music library. Excessive exposure to Celine Dion/Air Supply/schmaltzy ballads causes your brain to atrophy.

b. If you love Celine Dion/Air Supply/schmaltzy ballads, I would advise you to avoid this column altogether.

c. Tom Waits is a great American singer-songwriter with a distinct deep, gravelly voice. He sounds like a bear, if bears could sing. Legend has it that Tom Waits was born in the back of a taxi. Tom Waits has appeared in movies by Jim Jarmusch and Francis Ford Coppola, and he was the inventor of non-deadly weapons in Mystery Men. Tom Waits has a song called Filipino Box Spring Hog.

d. Here’s a random sampling of Tom Waits song titles: I Hope That I Don’t Fall in Love With You (cover versions do not measure up to the original), The Piano Has Been Drinking, Telephone Call from a Hooker in Minneapolis, Innocent When You Dream and Rain Dogs.

4. The subjects for this column will include, but not be limited to:

a. What I’m doing

b. Contemporary media studies, or "What do these people think they’re doing?!"

c. Books, music, movies, tennis.

d. Strange things that happen to people I know.

e. Theories of everything.

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So. I guess I’ll see you in a few days. You can write to me if you like. The address is emotionalweatherreport@gmail.com.