Introducing “Dear Denny”: Advice By and For Nitwits and Neurotics

Hello, young traveler. My name is Denny Spected. (Not really—it’s a pun, like “better than expected?” Ahh, forget it.) I was sitting in an English class, staring off into space as one usually does in an English class, when I had a frightening realization: people often turn to me for advice.

I don’t know why. Out of all the amazing people on this campus, I’m probably the least qualified to give sane, sound advice. Is it my charm that makes people turn to me? Is it the way I laugh at everything, even jokes I don’t find funny because I pity the joke-sayer? Do I have the words, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free” tattooed on my ass? Probably not. (Although how sexy would that be?) But even my mother asks me for advice on how to parent me and my sibling, and that’s not only a warning sign, but a call to destiny. 

The Misc has a tradition of advice columns. Ilana Tchaikovsky has a hilarious one. I binge-read all of Dr. G’s Love Advice during one summer day and adored it. However, both of these columns leaned towards the humorous side. Don’t get me wrong, I can crack out the old funny bone whenever I want. But this column will be about more than that. It will be a place where all of us can embrace and enjoy the beauty of the absurd, where we can reminisce and connect over our pleasures and faults. And even if I fall flat on my face, just now that we’re doing it at the same time, together, like a wonderful vaudevillian act.

So send your letters to deardenny@protonmail.com. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

 

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