The Fredösphere

Don't you just hate James Lileks?  He's so full of grace, even his screwups have a kind of poetry:

This afternoon I had an hour without obligation, and decided to rattle off the Diner. Did a a 20-minute monologue for the Diner, and I was on a roll. I hit playback. The mike driver had seized up, and recorded nineteen minutes of stutter. It hung on the words “I quit.” Really. Nineteen minutes: I quit I quit I quit I quit. Never has a computer malfunction been so eloquent or plaintive.

Here's an idea on the subject of good taste:  composers should avoid striving to make any individual composition the most tasteful possible, because this leads to pretension and destroys the mysterious élan vital of the work.  Instead, the composer should strive continually to improve his own taste through study of the work of the masters, meanwhile writing whatever music he likes.  This will result in less frustration in the short term, and all-around better music in the long term.  In this view, "guilty pleasure" is always an oxymoron when speaking of art, and yesterday's pleasures never become guilty, although they may cease being pleasures.

I have no idea if the above idea is correct, and I cannot guarantee even that I will believe it tomorrow.  But I believe it today.