I take major issue with people who require guidance from an $8.95 paperback available in drugstores (next to the DaVinci Code, to the right of the Danielle Steel's) and other fine literary distributors. Guess what. We all have issues, they are just varied. And that man doling out advice with cheesy slogans whose round face is staring at you from the back jacket, he does not have insight to your soul. He has common sense. You, self-help book reader, do not. Hark, what's that? Insecurities? Abandonment issues, you say? Big fucking deal. We're all in that boat. It's name is the Mayflower. Perhaps being marooned on an island, unchartered by everyone but Chrissy and his wild 'round-world' theories has led all the following generations to have a bit of a Kevin Arnold complex. Sure we showed them with that whole 1776 bit, but we'll always be the little brother won't we? Do not despair. Just tune in to that all knowing (can't-make-it-up-madison-avenue-with-a-backpack-on-without-almost-collapsing-into-cardiac-despair, true story) therapist, so beloved by Oprah, and buy a bigger SUV. Don't forget to vote Republican.
Lukewarm affection and anthrax,
m.
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