I recently asked a friend, who's read a thing or two in his day, to read my blog and tell me what he thought. He said,

"You're pretending to be a forty six year old, self-help doctor so you can make fun of people's problems and share your feelings on things. You're waiting for somebody to read your reflections on some Hugh Jackman movie… what have you… and be like, 'Oh this is great.'"

I told him that Dr. Lotes was some absurd notion my friends and I dreamt up when we were sixteen, after that guy came to school to talk to us about testicular cancer. I'd forgotten about him for years and years.

One day I was watching Dr. Phil on Opera, don't ask me why because I don't have a legitimate excuse, and I started laughing. I thought it would be hilarious if I could invade Dr. Phil, via "Being John Malcovich" or "Innerspace", and take him over for a day. Dr. Lotes was resurrected, reimagined, if you will. Last week I was horribly late to work because I lost my left shoe. I think it would add some symmetry to the world if a person, who can't manage his own loafers, could give absurd advice to people.

"What does Lotes mean?" he asked.

Lotes is slang for balls. Don’t ask me why, I don't have the time and I've painted myself boorish enough as it is.

"So you are essentially calling yourself Dr. Balls," he said as our dialog continued.

I'm a lazy person and I had already imagined the persona Harold Lotes. The hard work was out of the way, but I guess I'll give it another shot. I'll mow it around for the next couple of weeks. I'll let you know if I come up with anything, but I wouldn't get your hopes up. There's just something about how the word Lotes rolls off your tongue. Go ahead and try it… really do it… see I told you.