A familiar coffee shop scene.
There are a couple of books that I like to buy in bulk. I keep a couple extra copies of Henderson the Rain King around (good for men, and people needing a transformative experience), always a few Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (I just love it, and I like to spread it around), and always a stack of the memoir, Eat, Pray, Love. I give it to all the women who pass through my house and have somehow missed it (there aren't many at this point**). Believe me, I was primed to ignore it — anything that has a spiritual journey in it kinda makes me want to watch a rerun of The O.C.. But the sheer charm of the writing obliterated all my skepticism with such force that I found myself trying to choose a mantra before the book was over. It's like a long lunch with your daffiest, smartest, warmest friend. Well, today, as a special holiday gift for y'all, that friend is spending a half hour with Neal Conan, and YOU. Merry Chrismukkah.*
*See? There was a spiritual side to The O.C., too!


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