I made a resolution never to expatiate on Sunday.That is the one day I refrain from giving my opinion on anything. The rest of the week I maintain a steady pounding of thoughts, most of which are complex and frankly, intimidating.
I take no joy in dominating my intellectual circle, but what would you have me do? Would you ask Aaron Copeland to compose commercial ditties? Picasso to paint apples? Martha Graham to hopscotch? Spencer Tracy to recite limericks? James Joyce to write haikus?
How can someone of my erudite composition refrain from sharing my wisdom? Six days a week I allow my mind to reign and let the ignorant be damned. But on Sunday I ensconce myself in my favorite cafe, sipping my French vanilla ice coffee, reading the NY Post, resting my brain. I speak no three syllable words, no sentences with dependent clauses, discuss naught but cars, sports and loose women.
No philosophy, no historical perspective, no academia. I will not quote Yeats or John Lennon. I will, instead, descend to the level of discourse of those around me. Sometimes one has to declare an intellectual truce and not think very hard about anything.
Which is how this blog got written.
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