Hall of Fame
There used to be a guy in the Sherman Oaks Galleria, in California, who would psychoanalyze you for free. Well, not quite free, you had to bring him a coffee from Starbucks. A Grande Wet Cappuccino. He had been an acclaimed Psychotherapist for many years in Beverly Hills, but then he got bored and started telling people the truth, and he lost all his clients. So every Sunday, you could find him sitting in the west end of the mall in a big comfy chair, just waiting. I went to see him. I was instructed not to tell him my name, or to say anything, just set the coffee on the table and sit down across from him. He stared at me for like a minute and then he pointed up into the air and said. “Listen to the muzak. Notice the next song that comes on, it will be very significant to you personally. Listen to it silently and make no comment. Then we will begin. When that same song comes on again, an hour will have passed and our session will be over. Then you are to get up and walk away. Again without comment. You’ll have the urge to buy something. Anything. Resist it. Here it comes.” The song was “The Logical Song” by SuperTramp. I opened my mouth, excited, and he put his finger against his lips. I listened in silence, suffering an intense sunshiney flashback to my youth, playing amongst trees and flowers and birds. I saw the million diamonds dancing on the surface of a lake I used to fish on, I was running through a field with my first dog, my mother was washing my hair in the kitchen sink and making ice cream cones on my head with the shampoo, Then it was later and I saw myself getting into my first fight with my first friend, I saw myself yelling at my mother to stay out of my room. The psychotherapist snapped his fingers to break me out of my revery and stated in a "Mr. Spock" monontone...”that song is significant to everyone, it chronicles the pathological rise to dominance of our conscious right brain and the relentless cagegorization and subjugation of the miracle that is life into little boxes with questions such as is it a threat? is it food? What will the neighbors think? Unless as a child you were insane, retarded, or a genius, you will identify with that song." "Well I guess I’m not insane!", I ventured. "You weren’t insane as a child, that doesn’t mean you aren’t insane now, " he answered. For the rest of the hour he just sat and stared at me, occasionally shaking his head. And drinking the cappuccino I bought him. Finally, he looked at his watch and said, "Why me?--Ask you." I said "That's it?" "That's it," he said. And then the muzak started playing "The Logical Song" again. Our session was over. I hope this story has answered all your questions.