Hi, welcome to “Ask Matt Labash.” I’ll be your host, Matt Labash. The idea for this column – if idea isn’t too strong a word – is that it is not a column at all. Rather, it’s a conversation. One in which I do ninety-five percent of the talking. If you did most of the talking, you’d have to watch my eyes go dead and my attention wander until it was my turn to talk again. So trust me, it’s better this way.
For those unfamiliar with me from my day job at The Weekly Standard, I’ll give you a capsule bio by way of introduction: I have the gift of wisdom. Does that sound arrogant? I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intention. I didn’t choose wisdom. It chose me. If I had my druthers, I’d have chosen another gift, perhaps the untold riches of Lil’ Wayne, whose teeth are made of actual diamonds, or to be the sexiest man alive, like Rachel Maddow. But wisdom is what they gave me, so wisdom is all I have to give back to you.
This is not, you should know, a mere advice column. If you need advice, I’ll give it. But the only rule here is that there are no rules. You can ask me a question about anything that’s on your mind: current events, pop culture, media, theology, string theory, fishing tips, wicker repair. The only limits we have are those of your imagination. And those of my knowledge base. Which is considerably limited, truth be told. So try not to ask me anything that requires research. Though they tell me I have access to Google on this computer if we need it.
If all goes according to plan, ours will not be a traditional writer/reader relationship. It’s more complex than that. I might empathize or cajole. I might educate, instruct, or inspire. I might pretend to answer your question while actually reporting you to Social Services, since you’re a dangerous person who should not have contact with children. I might tell you to climb up on my shoulders, that you’re not heavy, you’re my brother. Or I might tell you that you are heavy, and that you should hop down until you lose a few pounds. I might just sidle up behind you, put my big strong man hands on the small of your back, and whisper in your ear the words of the poet, Kenny Rogers: “We’ve got tonight, who needs tomorrow?”
To which you’ll say something like, “I can’t, I’ve got to go home and wash my hair.”
To which I’ll say something like, “Shhh. We’ve got tonight babe, why don’t you stay?”
Wherever this takes us, our journey begins now:
Matt Labash is a senior writer with The Weekly Standard. His first book, Fly Fishing with Darth Vader: And Other Adventures with Evangelical Wrestlers, Political Hitmen, and Jewish Cowboys will be published next month by Simon & Schuster.
Hi Jim, Is this the funniest haiku you’ve ever read? – Dobby
Obama has failed
The worst President ever
Jimmy Carter smiles!
Okay, a few problems:
a. I’m not Jim.
b. Haiku is never funny.
c. How many Obama-bashing questions is one advice columnist expected to take? How many new ways can I grapple with the discontent of angry readers? Not all of you, or even most of you. But too many of you. What do you want from me? When will your blood-lust be sated? Look, I don’t pretend that this presidency has qualified as a success. Not even the Journolisters who turned to K-Y jelly at his election would pretend that.
But for the love of Malia and Sasha — life is large. It’s about a lot more than politics. It’s about children’s laughter. It’s about sunsets and birdsong and ocean breezes. It’s about eatin’ good in the neighborhood, and thinking outside the bun. It’s about punk rock, and getting bad ass tattoos, and falsely accusing people of being racists and putting your ideological enemies heads through a plate glass window. So turn off your BlackBerries. Go outdoors. Live a little. Then come back, and think hard. We have limited time together in which you can benefit from my Solomonic wisdom, and you’re going to ask me what I think of your Obama haikus? Really?
Sorry, Dobby. I need to make an example out of somebody, so it might as well be you. For the rest of this column, I’m putting my readership on probation. If you’re not going to take my faux advice seriously by asking me semi-real questions about non-Obama related topics so that we can continue this ridiculous charade, then everyone is going into the penalty box. And instead of taking any of your questions, I’m going to raid a real advice columnist’s storehouse for questions that yield real advice. I’ve stolen the following already-answered question from Slate‘s Dear Prudence. Don’t like it? Don’t complain to me. Talk to Dobby. And now, a question I can work with.