Saturday, April 4, 2015
I have, on occasion, handed out my share of advice here. But I don't mean it.
I have begun to think there is no such thing as advice. Advice is the box you use when you're reorganizing for "to decide later". Any organizing book, of which there are many, will advise you that in no way should you ever have a "to decide later" box. This is very good advice. I will take it under consideration.
If I take out all the splendid advice I have received in my life, like one of my art teacher's admonitions to learn a valuable skill, like carpentry, I find it is all beautifully preserved, like in aspic, just sort of jiggling around in an impenetrable gelatinous cube. My wife and I were once in a fascinating food shop in Belgium. We stood in line. I have no idea what we were buying. But an old lady in front of us proceeded to order slice after slice of mysterious aspics in loaf pans. These gelled loafs were chock full of mysterious body parts and obscure vegetables and mushrooms. The counter person meticulously wrapped each individual slice in layers of butcher paper as the line grew out the door. I can't imagine any of us minded. It was fascinating. "Is that a boar's snout and pickles in aspic?" we all hypnotically wondered to ourselves.
What did that old Belgian woman do with all that aspic? I like to think she arranged it on the many shelves of her apartment, in between her many, many bibles.
An alternate theory is that she ate them.
And so here is my advice to you:
Don't hand out advice unless you're prepared to have a couple of bites of the horrible stuff yourself.