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Hi, Kindawarmbright,
I'm afraid the last thing I am is well-rounded. I do play piano, classical. I do ski, downhill. I do garden, organic. I do recycle, glass paper and metal. I do read, literature. Do these things make me well-rounded? I once wished to be that: it was a failure. I basically realized in my early twenties that I was good for nothing except one thing, writing. I really couldn't do anything else. In everything else, I was pretty much useless. El Inutil. But I do remember and remember it fondly, quite fondly, banging the shuttlecocks over the slumping net on our sidelawn where we avoided stepping into the soggy spot where the septic tank was. Yes, that was home, good Greenwich, the one and only, that pushed me to excellence, rocket high SAT's, a smackin' IQ, and a nostalgia for rhododendrons pachysandra and oven-birds that flew to their deaths in plate glass windows and trust funds that washed out off the rocky beach at the end of the road to lawyers elsewhere in Long Island, perhaps.
Yes, yes, I've always had confidence and energy, the fine things you speak of, so much so I've had to toss it away to the clochards in Paris who were, by definition, homeless and sometime shoeless as well. And as for my attractiveness, as one of the two still living East Indian bald homosexual twins who ran the American Café in Amsterdam said to me, before fobbing me off to some good-hearted tart on the pill for the night way back in the 80's, "You're not a beauty, but you've got something!"
yrs.,
Egbert
# 86
