A friend of mine regularly reads my writing, and he has commented a few times that I can’t… A friend of mine regularly reads my writing, and he has commented a few times that I can’t seem to write without mentioning Kurt Cobain. After a week in a drunken haze that began with margaritas, I don’t have a single idea for a column. Of course, the obvious cop-out would be something Kurt/Nirvana/Courtney-related. But I’m not going to do it.

Instead, I’m going to reflect on the wonderful advice in Baz Luhrmann’s “Everybody’s Free to Wear Sunscreen” song, originally a column written by Mary Schmich – you can thank my friend for saving you from my ’90s nostalgia.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they’ve faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall, in a way you can’t grasp now, how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. I do it already. Every now and then, I flip through high school photos and miss being so tiny. Sure, I’m still tiny, but now I have hips, and I’m not as toned as I was. I’m digging the bigger boobs I now have, though. I can only imagine what I’m going to feel like when I look at my college photos when I’m in my 40s.

Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. I’m still trying to take this one to heart. I freaked out before moving into my first apartment because IKEA didn’t have the bed I wanted, and I practically give myself ulcers worrying about trivial things like $15 parking tickets and five-point quizzes.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts. Don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours. A stupid boy once hurt me more than I had ever been hurt in my entire life. It was like he ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it before putting it into a blender, then cooking it. It was the latter part of that bit of advice that got me through it. Why on earth would I mourn over someone who could be such an insensitive jerk?

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life. I began college an aspiring lawyer. Then I was a writer. And then an information scientist. We’re back to writing, and who knows, maybe after I move into the cubicle next to David Fricke at Rolling Stone, I’ll get bored with what I’m doing. Regardless, I’ll know it’s OK.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don’t be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own. This is why so many of you have seen Laverne ‘ Shirley. They’re only breasts. I’ve used them to my advantage before, and I won’t care about doing it again. Last weekend, I used them sabotage my opponent’s shot in pool.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room. It has to be one of the best stress-relievers ever. And if you can’t get down naked in your living room, where can you get down?

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few, you should hold on. You won’t have to work hard to figure out who those precious few are. They are the ones who you drink beer with at 3 p.m. in a basement apartment while wearing bathing suits for no reason. They are the ones you run through the streets of South Oakland with, holding hands and screaming the lyrics to Andrew W.K.’s “I Love New York City.” They are the ones whose fights you break up, only to suffer a bruised chest, messed-up arm and ripped stockings from tackling them in the street at 4 a.m.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth. I’m not going to cheapen this with an explanation. You get it.