Hocus Pocus


    If I was such a fucking putz that I couldn’t deal with my own life and sought professional help, I may be subjected to rational emotive therapy. As such, the therapist would confront my irrational thoughts and challenge me to think differently. So, for example: “Ryan, why does this Enon record make you so angry?” And, of course, if I’m a spineless crumb-bum who has enlisted professional help in the first place, I’m probably all, “I don’t know, Doc. I wanted to be into it, but it just kind of honks.” So then, in line with R-E therapy, Dr. MyJobIsMadeUp gets all smug, like, “Well, let’s turn that around: what is it about you that allows the Enon record to get under your skin?” And then I’d probably be all, “I don’t know. An aversion to bad music? Specifically, flat, uninspired LPs with cover art that looks like the visual aid for an eighth-grader’s ‘The Meaning of Zen’ oral presentation?”