It astonishes me that I ever thought the world of Anne Lamott. I think I’ve purchased 15 copies of “Bird by Bird” and still think it’s the best (or most entertaining) book about writing out there, but my God, she’s a big stinky pile lately. Her fixation on George W. Bush exceeds even my own deep hunger for Bush-bashing. And lately, even the promos for her columns read like self-parody:
Conquering small challenges, like programming the VCR, can lead to small miracles, restoration and taking our country back from the infidels.
Oh, doesn’t that make you want to click through? Gee, I wonder if it’ll be another thousand words about getting so mad it makes Jesus want to smoke crack, so I put a picture of myself into my God box and then Sam said something really simple but profound and it made me see something, but I couldn’t see it all the way until I went to my church, which did I mention is nearly all black? (But I really fit in because I have dreadlocks.) And then the cat did something and my good friend (who is gay, or black, or fat) came over and we prayed and talked and blah blah blah I hate George Bush, the end.
You know, I want George Bush out of office, too, if only because maybe, just maybe, it’ll make Anne be funny again.