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As I pull into the parking lot at Borders bookstore I am immediately aware of the obscene vehicle choice of the drivers who are attracted to an establishment such as this; that is because a bright yellow Cadillac Escalade comes barreling out and we almost have the opportunity to meet. The operator of this ungodly sight naturally does not notice the near encounter because she is busy speaking on her cell phone at a word-per-minute rate most likely of similar range to the dollar-rate it costs to fuel the beast she is driving.

Breath deep.

I calmly proceed into the parking lot only to find a sea of these monsters. The cars in the parking spaces are overflowing the painted lines that attempt to contain them. I opt to park around the corner in attempt to not only spare the confidence of my humble car, but to spare her body from abuse by incapable yuppies.

Satisfied that my car is as safe as possible, I approach the building. In front of the store are books that are not selling. The company hopes that bringing the price down will attract, oh perhaps, people like the mother who is rummaging through them with a gold star around her neck and her yarmulke-wearing son. But I guess it is in the blood, because I, being of the same faith, cannot resist but to take a look.

Could I be any more typical?

So, what is not selling is not at all surprising. Low-fat cookbooks (hmmm¾) and a variety of patriotic accounts including: American Fighter Series, The Attack on Pearl Harbor, and America Yesterday and Today.

Interesting what America isnžt buying these days, I imagine those would have been on the front display on September 12, 2001. How quickly we forget.

Upon entering, I discover what did make the front display and I cannot help but stare. The Clinton family is staring back at me. Interesting and sickening to learn what America is buying. In an attempt to find some decency and familiarity, I head to philosophy and religion. In passing, I note the literature section resembles a ghost town, whereas the self-help section is as congested as what the minds must be that are found browsing there. One middle-aged man parts from the small crowd to make his purchase. With him, he carries The Idiotžs Guide to Parenting.

Idiot.

I reach the "spiritual" section only to find the Simpsonžs have made the philosophy shelf with The Džoh of Homer. I also discover that all faiths may now be purchased in miniature and in the form of a tidy box complete with instructions. Among these are "the Buddha Box", "Voodoo in a Box", and "Celtic Wisdom Sticks"¾. in a box!

I step back slowly.

This store harbors SUV-driving, double latte-sipping, self-help reading yuppies who only believe in what they can fit in a travel-size box. This place marks the death of intellect, and I must find the nearest exit.

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