Redux: My brief life as an advice columnist

It was bad advice. It was a lot of fun.

I miss the good man Michael Murray, who left us a few years ago (bless his cotton socks). He was an imaginative and curious writer, which led him to create Galaxy Brain, an online magazine of eclectic things by writers and other creative types who were part of Michael’s galaxy.

That he asked me to be an advice columnist was crazy and without logic, which is why he did it. I said yes, in an endearing display of our shared bad judgement. I’m pretty sure Michael made up the questions, so I — and the two other writers who were also invited to dispense advice — made up answers. Here’s the link to the page where this advice column originally appeared, and below is the question from that issue and my “advice” in response.

As I said, do not follow my advice, expect when I advise you to continue reading.

Question: My husband, who is 46 years old, calls his parents mommy and daddy. For instance, on the phone he might say, “What’s daddy up to?” or “Could you ask mommy to send me the invoice?” I cannot stand this. What can I do?

My advice:

Dear mommy fearest,

You should sit before I reveal what will surely come to you as a shock: I believe your husband is Rogers Waters, the famously enigmatic rock star and leader of the band Pink Floyd.

It must be so because it is inexplicable that a sane 46-year-old man would call his parents “mommy” and “daddy” for any reason other than art or entertainment. There are many examples of this, such as Christina Crawford’s scandalous book Mommy Dearest, or the artist formerly known as Puff Daddy, or Sylvia Plath’s poem,“There’s a stake in your fat black heart/ And the villagers never liked you/ They are dancing and stamping on you/ They always knew it was you/ Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.” In the present case, consider Pink Floyd’s epic concept album The Wall, written by Roger Waters.

The Wall tells the sad tale of a disillusioned rock star who has a crippling closeness with his mother. “Hush now, baby, don’t you cry,” she reassures him, over a melody of acoustic strings and apron strings. “Mama’s gonna keep you right here under her wing/ she won’t let you fly but she might let you sing/ mama will keep baby cosy and warm.”

Now, “mama” isn’t quite “mommy,” but it’s awkward enough coming from the mouth of a grown man. And his mama is all over The Wall, including in the climactic trial before the Lord Judge Worm, where she pleads, “M’lud I never wanted him to get in any trouble/ Why’d he ever have to leave me?/ Worm, your honour, let me take him home.”

At one point we hear a boy’s voice saying, “Look, mummy, there’s an airplane up in the sky.” We also hear a phone call from “Mr. Floyd” trying to call home, and when there’s no answer he gets so upset that everything goes wrong, and even “love turns grey, like the skin of a dying man.” You need an inordinate dependence on your mother to despair so when she doesn’t pick up the phone.

Another sign that your husband is Roger Waters is him flying a large, inflatable pig over the house, or if marches about while chanting, “Hey, teacher, leave those kids alone!”

You may argue that Roger Waters, born in 1943, is 79 years old, and not 46, but if your husband lies to you about being a famous rock star, why not shave a few years off his age? Mommy would approve.

Like Lord Judge Worm, I believe “the evidence before the court is incontrovertible,” and I rule that you’re justified in dumping your husband. Though I must note that rock stars tend to be very rich, and as your husband once wrote, “Money, it’s a gas/ grab that cash with both hands and make a stash.”

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P.S. RIP, Michael.