Wednesday, January 14, 2004

When I was a wee lad, gentle reader, I took it upon myself to share the joys of art. Fine literature and dance, sculpture and music–these are cornerstones of a life well rounded. My grassroots crusade began in the English moors on a misty morning much like this one.

I was in preschool, and snack time had ended in tears. Whose tears? My tears. The other children had gobbled up all the crumpets and then some, leaving me naught but a few drops of tea. With sad eyes and an empty tummy, I turned passionately to literature and found, much to my delight, a wonderful book of stories. The weighty tome promised a grand survey of powerful leaders, double dealings, starlit fields, magic, and the uncertainty of modern culture.

I held the book gently, savoring the smell of the genuine leather hardcover. And then I turned to the nearest snot-nosed kid and helped clean out his nose–with the book. Wham! Retribution and crumpet crumbs were mine in an instant, and I had yet to read the preface. I promptly moved on to bigger and better things, such as sharing my appreciation of literature with my other classmates.

To this day I support the arts, and Secondhand Rants makes sure that artists become poor, starving artists. We take and take and give nothing back to the community except for shameless advertisements. That’s right, dear readers! One-Woman Times is back, and she’s rubbing elbows with Buenos Aires’ finest. She’s also doing a little journalism on the side. I’m not really sure how to get to “Buenos Aires”–does the place even exist?–but I have it on good authority that walking north is the wisest thing to do. Whose authority? My authority.