Friday, March 13, 2009
Obama not returning
Peggy's phone calls
"There's no pill for this kind of depression," she says.
LETDOWN. The poor dear is genuinely upset. Her column today is positively lugubrious and uncharacteristically lacking any mention of Barack Obama. In fact, his absence is actually kind of a negative presence:
I spoke to a Manhattan-based psychiatrist who said there is an uptick in the number of his patients reporting depression and anxiety. He believes part of the reason is that we're in a new place, that "When people move into a new home they increasingly recognize the importance of their previous environment." Our new home is postprosperity America; the old one was the abundance; we miss it. But he also detected a political dimension to his patients' anguish. He felt that many see our leaders as "selfish and dishonest," that "our institutions have been revealed as incompetent and undependable." People feel "unled, overwhelmed," the situation "seemingly unsalvageable."
Unled? Selfish and dishonest? Peggy! Get a grip on yourself. The president is a married man. Sure, he said he'd call, but that's not a lie in the usual sense. It's a standard gambit for letting you down easy. Would you have been happier if he'd said, "Of course I'll never call you. I deeply appreciate all the gushingly unctuous admiration you've shown me in your columns, but I'm just not that into you."?
Yes, you're feeling "overwhelmed" at the moment, but that's not really a good excuse for all your talk of "Xanax, Zoloft and Klonopin." Anti-depressants aren't going to help in the long run. They're just a delaying tactic. We've got a two-step process for getting over what ails you. First, take a good long look at this picture.
Uh huh. She's beautiful. She's his wife. She's also the mother of his children. Hundreds of adoring columns aren't going to erase these three checkmate-caliber advantages. It's not just that you've lost him. You never had him. Which means it's time for step two.
That's right. Haagen Dazs Sticky Toffee Pudding. It's the perfect antidote -- vaguely British, pretentious, and as treacly as your own prose. You'll forget all about your depression halfway through the first pint. (Make sure to eat it with a silver spoon.)
Trust us. Everything's going to look much much better by and by. Somebody out there is sure to want you. Almost certainly, probably.
Well, that's our good deed for the day.
Anybody else having problems with depression? Think of us as Blaagen Dazs -- healing flavors for every taste.