My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Thursday, February 4, 2016
Up to Date
I have no interest in being up to date. I do not want to dress in current fashion, take an interest in popular culture, listen to music less than thirty years old, have conversations with most born after the Kennedy years (except some children). I do not want to hear new ideas that are not new at all or see art that strikes me as foolish. No pictures needed to be rated 'R' are of interest, and most are rated 'PG.' Nor will I wear my hair as today's people do. I want no stylists as long as I can find a barber. I do not want to live or work in anything made mostly of concrete, or where the windows will not open. I am not willing to spend half as much for a car as I did for my home, but otherwise (with a few additional conditions) I am generally tolerant of the day.
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