Uh, thanks for sending me this, Nathaniel. I mean, it is May already. And heaven knows you don’t want to leave these things till the last minute.
I think I like this idea of Thomas Kinkade’s, of calling yourself “Painter of Something” and then trademarking the name. Can’t call any of those old Impressionists “Painters of Light.” No sir. That title belongs, definitively and by law, to Mr. Kinkade. I think my sister-in-law ought to go ahead and trademark the name “Painter of Trees and Clouds,” before somebody else snaps it up.
And what about writers? We should have titles, too. My esteemed colleague here could be “Writer of Death,” for example. Or if that’s too gloomy, how about “Writer of Death-As-Basis-for-Culture,” which isn’t necessarily less gloomy on the face of things, but is more precise. Or “Writer of Opposition-To-Abortion-As-Signpost-At-Intersection-Of-Catholicism-And-American-Public-Life.” This title doesn’t roll off the tongue in quite the way that “Painter of Light” does, I’ll admit, but we’re about truth around here, not mellifluousness — which, now that I think about it, rolls off the tongue far more effortlessly, in the way of tumbleweeds, than “truth” does.
Which is really all I can bring myself to say on the subject of a light-up musical Christmas tree in May.
[Rating: 12/100]
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