I’m sure you will.

I think he was completely wrong. It is the enemy of a certain kind of dilettante life that he aspired to—that of the man of letters. But for the real novelist, the pram in the hall is the greatest ally—it brings you up sharp, and you realize what reality is all about. My children were a huge inspiration for me.

Ballard answered my hypothetical question in the next printed breath.

For most of my working life as a professional, which began over forty years ago, what kick-started the day was a large scotch and soda. ... I used to find that a couple of large scotches did the trick—it created a different microclimate inside my head.

I’m glad I’m a childless artist. The lack of fatherly responsibilities allows me to dedicate the first hours of the day to the wonders of caffeination. I doubt Ballard enjoys a bottle of wine with lunch as much as I do.

Lisa H. wrote to provide a new perspective on Ross’s approach.

His “Wet on Wet” technique is an amazing erotic exercise which takes place between at least two women, some Astroglide, and some very fat paintbrushes.

Just thought ya oughta know :).

On a somber note, an employee of a large financial institution provided the final chapter in the Bob Ross story.

David:

In case you were curious, that “idiot” named Bob Ross passed away in 1995.

~ Michael

Woody’s been lucky so far, but what about Bob Ross? It’s 2002, and I’m getting junk mail from him seven years after he died. In addition to the “Wet on Wet” technique (which I admit I may have dismissed prematurely), it looks like Ross may have discovered a third path to immortality: marketing.

Although I try not to judge other cultures, I make a few exceptions. Example: soap film. For some reason, the British don’t rinse their dishes after they’re washed. As a result, every plate, glass, and utensil is covered in soap film. When someone pours me a cup of tea, I know where all the bubbles came from.

Soap film makes for awkward social situations. When invited to dinner, I try to surreptitiously rinse and dry anything with which I’m expected to eat or drink. Since I don’t want to reveal that I’m being judgmental about my hosts’ standards, I’ve had to concoct some elaborate ruses. I sometimes claim I’m taking my plate, saucer, goblet, and silverware into the bathroom to photograph them in a better light. Other times, I claim to want a drink of water as a pretext for rinsing a pint glass before I enjoy a beer.

I don’t like to be duplicitous, but sometimes honesty just doesn’t pay. Every time I start to explain to British friends why soap film is so dangerous, they just gawk at me as if I was crazy.

After all the pleasant blur of thoughts of peeled eyes and food, spotting a shop that offered salty, greasy potato pieces seemed anticlimactic.

Lee runs her life like an enlightened despot. She’s smart enough not to worry about petty details, and she’s also smart enough not to leave critical matters to chance. Lee runs her life by edict.

Recently, Lee and I chatted about this, that, and the other thing. When I could no longer maintain a polite façade, I asked her what was new on the courtship horizon. That’s when she made her proclamation,

There’s a new decree,
in the land of Lee ...

I can say this, however, with candor and certainty: Lee’s something else.

“Really?” Alicia asked, “All of your life?”

“Not yet,” I replied honestly.

Since BBC managers are every bit as concerned about ratings as their overtly commercial counterparts, I asked George why the Beebsters would give members of their audience ample time to switch to another network that wasn’t filled with dreadful dreck. George provided a two-word answer.

Winston Churchill.

It seems that during Churchill’s last days in office in 1955, the National Committee to Preserve British Standards and Values was pushing hard for a national day of poetry to counter a perceived Communist threat.

Churchill railed against the notion with his famous remark, “If all the poets joined Hitler in hell I would make at least a favorable reference to the devil in the House of Commons.”

Unfortunately, by 1955 Churchill had lost most of his strength, stamina, power, and influence. As a result, he was forced to craft a compromise. The National Committee to Preserve British Standards and Values would have its poetry day as long as the government-owned media broadcast hourly warnings in the fortnight leading up to the event.

Thanks to Winston and the BBC, on Thursday I shall celebrate a holiday of my own invention, Recorded Music Day.