Stick with the Classics

There was nothing from Peppy, of course.  So I returned the call of another madman, a fellow who owes me a camera.  He may have it even worse than I which gives him the advantage.  We talked awhile about why I don't have it yet--the camera, I mean--and then a bit about the strangeness of life.

"What scares you most," he asked me.  I could picture him sitting in his room, the front office of an old motor court, with mounds of camera gear all about.

"The inevitable," I said.

There was a pause.

"You afraid of death?"

"Not in particular.  Just things I can't influence the outcome."

What I did get, however, was commentary from someone very charming, I'm sure, who wanted to let me know s/he came over to read the blog because a friend had said that there was some good writing.  S/he wanted to assure me that s/he found none.  I thanked the person for the input, but really I was confounded.  It's like telling a stupid person that s/he's stupid.  What good does that do?  It doesn't even make you feel better, I hope.  It's like taunting the physically handicapped or beating an old homeless person.  For what purpose?  Where's the gain?  I guess I could try to write better, but really. . . ?

I'm trying to do what I can't do, trying to see what I can't see.  Really I am.  I'm trying to be handsomer and smarter and more interesting and even younger.  Oh. . . yes. . . and sweeter, too.

A good critic is one that helps us find meaning or gives us insight into why we like what we do.  The process is analytical and informative.  A good critic informs and delights and may change tastes.  Even someone like Dwight McDonald, that fallen Trotskyite from The Partisan days, gets kudos for his wit and wisdom from those who disagree with him.

And so I told my new critic that I was sorry s/he'd been tricked by his/her friend, but there was nothing like that here.  Stick with the classics, I recommended.  There are plenty of them, and you can rarely go wrong.