Saturday, April 2, 2011

Saturday commute xxi: No strings

I've been thinking about “boys and their stuff." I don't mean our whim-sical collections of objets de vertu, but our assimilated, not always sequestered attachments, which another might regard as debris, or prizes of intolerable privity. 

Mr Berlin's existential lyric on the disposal of this innocent cache, which I've never known anyone to undertake for himself, is surely the acutest rumination I ever expect to read about it. Possibly, his song has never been considered in this light before. He posits a sharp schism as a predicate for levity, provided, it is fancy. 

We recover and reconsider such treasuries in plain sight; the least we can do, is to celebrate the good graces of those who happen by. We do.

Irving Berlin
No Strings
Fred Astaire
Top Hat
Mark Sandrich, director
RKO, 1935©

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