Yesterday, in a cascade of self-referential meta-madness, I explained that it is very difficult to consciously create an adage in the style of Yogi Berra, and then I quoted a colleague who-- in a heated description-- inadvertently coined such a phrase (If you saw her, you'd know what she looks like!) but then--accidentally-- I penned my own Yogi Berraism, when I said that "Yogi Berra would be smiling in his grave" if he heard Katie's wonderful maxim . . . because not only is Yogi Berra is not dead (he's 86) but skulls are always smiling, so the metaphor doesn't really make sense . . . and I am hoping that this post doesn't kill Berra, because I've had a history of killing celebrities with my attention (the first song I ever sang in front of a class was "Delia's Gone" by Johnny Cash, and he died the next day-- which made my students extraordinarily happy-- and in college, I started reading Brighton Rock, by Graham Greene, and he was dead within hours, so I've definitely got some kind of voodoo magic . . . or a more logical explanation is that I am a prodigal consumer of arts and literature, and so over the course of my life it would be more odd if no one died that I was perusing at the the time).
5 comments:
Good thing you recapped and linked to yesterday's post. I simply couldn't bear scrolling down several inches.
a sentence of dave about a sentence of dave.
... which was about a colleague of Dave.
all dave all the time over here.
Dave, I dig your use of "prodigal." My first thought was that there are some who might claim that there's no such thing as a prodigal consumer of arts and literature, that the nature of the arts is that too much is never enough. But I trust you, who exposes himself to such things (mostly literature) every day, to evaluate yourself as such.
Nice word.
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