Thursday, January 20, 2005


This afternoon, a brief reunion with Colonel Blimp (who was masquerading as one General Wynn-Candy) reminded me that when you’re young, you live a bright, glorious anticipatory lifestyle, projecting your sweet personality into the future, assuring it a warm spot by the hearth of the times ahead. When you get older, however, you have either failed to reach the hearth, leaving you out in the bitter cold realm of failure or you’ve gotten to the hearth and realize you’re sweating, uncomfortable, and will henceforth be perpetually dissatisfied. So there’s bound to be a moment when you go from the young you to the old you, right? It’s like that charming little line the mapmakers have so considerately have drawn through the middle of our country. If you’re on one side, the rivers flow forward, if you’re on the other side, they flow back, like an elderly chap forever incoherently rambling about his heyday and all the clever decisions he made back when his decisions might have mattered at all. The continental divide—is that it? No matter. Once, long ago, I did the cleverest thing…

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