Yesterday, I had a piece called “King for a Day, Etc.” It was a series of questions and answers on subjects that I have written about, with some frequency, in the past. I would like to share some mail.
A reader writes,
Whenever I think the world is going to hell in a handbasket, I re-read WFB’s piece on his pilgrimage to Lourdes and the transcript of his Firing Line interview with Jorge Luis Borges. Beautiful. What about you?
Strangely enough, I have been reading Borges in the last few days — short non-fiction (in a collected volume). I guess I don’t have a favorite WFB piece or interview. There are so many of them, on so many different subjects, and they have a cumulative effect.
I once complained, “Journalism is so ephemeral. It comes and goes. ‘It’s fish wrap by Friday,’ goes an old saying.” And Midge Decter said, “Yes, but you achieve a cumulative effect.” That was reassuring to me, and I also believe it’s true.
One of the questions in my piece yesterday was, “What is your favorite WFB-ism?” I offered a couple of formulations. A reader was thinking of another one.
Years ago, I quoted something that WFB said during a trip, on which he had brought along both a computer and a printer. The latter was on the fritz. He said, with his perfect combination of irritation and world-weariness, “All I want in life is for my printer to work.”
So, our reader, remembering this, writes, “All I want in life right now is for my husband to bring me a latte.”
A different reader has a question for me: “Ric Flair or Hulk Hogan?” I had to look up Ric Flair — professional wrestler, like Hulk. No opinion (obviously)! (One of my dearest friends had Hulk Hogan as a neighbor for a while. Says he was very pleasant.)
One of the questions yesterday was “What grammatical error would you make vanish?” I gave a three-part answer, beginning with this:
Well, I’ve noticed something lately — like the last five years. Young people around me say, “If I would have known it was going to be cold, I would have worn a sweater.” “If he would have been there on time, he would have met her.”
How did this creep in? Whatever the case, I would like to see it creep out.
A reader sends an email with the Subject heading “I am part of the problem.” He writes, “Could you enlighten me? If I would have known my phrasing was incorrect, I would not have said it.”
Sure. “If I had known my phrasing was incorrect, I would not have said it.” “If I’d known it was going to be so cold, I would have worn a sweater.” “If only he had been there on time, he would have met her.”
This one too relates to language — and to WFB. Yesterday, I wrote,
… he once said to me, in reference to one of his spaniels, “Isn’t that the sweetest dog in the history of dogs?” I picked up this formulation. Many years ago, I texted a friend of mine, saying, “I’ve just met the most beautiful girl in the history of girls.” I have sent the same text to him — the identical text — in the ensuing years. My friend will occasionally say, “So, who’s the most beautiful girl in the history of girls? Who’s the incumbent?”
A reader sends a two-word email — no more words than that: “Vilde Frang?” Ha, no — but great guess. You will never meet a more enchanting person, all around. (I interviewed her last summer at the Salzburg Festival.) (She is a Norwegian violinist.)
One of the questions yesterday had to do with The Simpsons. What is my favorite clip? I settled on two. In the first one, the family plays Scrabble. In the second, they go to Carmen. A reader — a Yalie — sends this one, which I had never seen. It is priceless. Mr. Burns says, “Let Harvard have its football and academics. Yale will always be first in gentlemanly club life.”
Finally, a note about music — a musical moment, or musical event. A reader writes,
In 1963, as a 20-year-old, I showed up for a Saturday matinée at the old Metropolitan Opera House. They were performing Bellini’s La sonnambula, and Joan Sutherland was making a return to the company. I had become a regular standee and had picked a position on the left side of the stage, where you could see into the orchestra pit. The conductor was Varviso, and the tenor was a wonderful Gedda.
Sutherland entered, an apparition dressed in blue, and sang her opening aria. On the repeat, she was standing right above me, and before I knew it, tears were streaming down my cheeks. In over 50 years of listening to all of the marvelous singers, that is the single event I keep with me.
At the end of the opera and her “Ah! non giunge,” you would have thought you were at a hockey game, so immense was the ovation.
Hockey and opera have their resemblances, for sure. Thank you, one and all.