Ahem . . . this is an off-the-cough doff of a reminder to all and any that Charles Taylor is, comme Robert Fulford, OURS, not yoUrS (nor, IMO, will he ever be).He's a kind and generous man; when I was writing the McLuhan biography, he granted me the rights to reprint an entire article he'd written to include in the fabric of the work, no charge, no "marker" attribution, nothing. I was deeply thrilled, touched, and shall always be grateful because, without the article, I could not have ended the bio where and why and how I did. My editor on that work was speechless with shock, another reason why I love the guy :).Of course, that's why I call him St. Charles and yes, I thanked him and still do, every time I see him in print, given the shit I read, more often than rot, in the Canadian papes these days. He's a true-blue Canuckian stylist who also happens to know a lot of things about a lot of things. (We were wondering where the Auden type of journalist had gone; well, I've now provided two examples proving he ain't.)
Dear Judith,In penance for not knowing that Charles Taylor is Canadian, I have perused Canadian Literature from cover to cover, and am preparing a paper on representations of Cricket in the works of Stephen Leacock.
Dear Sara:You are the catz pajamz, My Dear Sweet Ma'amz; and, I look forward to your dissertation (which will, I am sure, include odes and epodes to our great nation? Or else) :).Leacock's good; and, doesn't cricket have wickets? If I do recall correctly, then, you're too funny for me to keep to myself. You've obviously read "My Brilliant Career," M'Dear; thus, forego the long haul and say a few Salut SunShine Saras! 4 U know who . . .LOL.p.s. Cash will do, 2 [R 'n' D]